Better Together
by Salenya
Summary: Black Widow and Hawkeye, Natasha and Clint. Do they even know what is happening between them? Filling in where the movie left off, the two assassins have to figure out where they stand in the aftermath of all that has happened.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Like many of you, I have recently given myself over to an Avengers obsession. I loved the movie, but I was especially intrigued by the Black Widow/ Hawkeye relationship. There is so much to it that we don't know, which makes for great fanfiction! Since I can't think of anything else until this story is out of my head, here it is! Just filling in a few blanks. Not sure how long it will go, but there will definitely be BlackHawk romance or potential romance in the future. I, like a well trained assassin, didn't want to rush things. **

**Oh, and nothing belongs to me. Otherwise you would have seen all this played out in theaters. IF only...**

Ch. 1

Natasha only had to glance at Clint to know he was hurt. As the assassin aimed his arrow directly at Loki's face, there was a slight tremor to his hand. Hawkeye wasn't the type to show pain, so his partner knew it had to be severe. That, combined with the ever-decreasing levels of adrenaline in their systems now that the battle was winding down, made all the injuries from earlier rise to the surface.

But they won. Against all odds, they somehow pulled it off and defeated Loki's army. Oddly enough, no one was in the mood to celebrate. By the time SHIELD arrived to collect the demigod, not even Stark had the energy to joke around. Yet despite all they had been through, or perhaps because of it, they could only seem to think about food. Thor was starving, Bruce said the other guy had a pretty good appetite after a fight, and Stark wouldn't stop throwing the word Shawarma around like there was nothing in the world that could matter more.

Then there was Clint, the stubborn bastard, nodding and chuckling like he couldn't agree more. But she saw the way he leaned to the left, trying to keep pressure off his ribs on the right. She could see the pale sheen on his skin, his first physical sign of blood loss. He couldn't even hide the shuffle in his step from God-knows what injury to his leg. He needed to be patched up, but there he was trudging off with the others to see if the little restaurant was destroyed by the alien army. 'Men,' was all she could think before following Captain out of Stark Towers.

After a good deal of bribing, Tony managed to get that Shawarma he had been dreaming of. They sat in silence because, really, what was there to say? Clint kept his leg up on Natasha's chair, trying to play it off as a casual gesture, but he could see she wasn't buying it. In reality, he wanted to keep the swelling to a minimum, and was hoping to prevent some of his deeper cuts from reopening. Any blood he had left really needed to stay in his body.

While the others focused on their food, he focused on her. So much of their communication was non verbal in the field, and it was no different in their free time. She was making it clear that she thought he was an idiot, that he should cut the crap and get himself checked by a medical team. Since he didn't have a great argument against that, he just looked back, more than a little amused at her concern. His Black Widow, the one human being who could take him in a fight, the assassin who always had his back, was worried about a couple cuts and bruises.

Natasha saw the humor dancing in Clint's storm-grey eyes. She was not impressed. Her thoughts quickly switched from concern for her partner's injuries to a few she'd like to add. Instead, she put her food down and flashed a smile to her teammates- a dangerous thing if they knew her better.

"Well boys, it's been fun. Really, I don't think I've ever had a night in the city quite like this one. But I need to get back to base and get some sleep- we don't all have super strength and run on battery packs. Barton, you coming?"

Clint gave her his sweetest smile, thinking how nice it was of her to pose it as a question. After years by her side, he knew better than to think he had a choice. She was letting him be a big boy and leave on his own two feet if he wanted. Otherwise, he'd be leaving in a body bag.

"Love to Nat- I could use a good night's sleep." He slowly got to his feet, playing it off as getting one more bite of Shawarma, so that he knew he had his balance before putting any weight on his bad leg.

Natasha, for all her reputation as a heartless spy, could always be counted upon to have his back. She moved next to him, putting her arm around his waist as he slung an arm around her shoulders. It helped hide the limp and kept his ribcage up, making it a little easier to breathe. But before they even made it out the door he could hear the Russian swears she was muttering under her breathe. He was really in for it this time.

**What did you think? **


	2. Chapter 2

**I didn't want to wait, so here is chapter 2! The next chapter has more of the good touchy-feely stuff in it. I just have to, you know, write it...**

Ch. 2

"Tell me something, Barton, do you have some sort of superhuman healing ability that you forgot to mention before this? Or maybe you're wearing a special suit of armor under your gear?" Natasha hissed, becoming increasingly irritated as they walked through the SHIELD field office where they were stationed for the night.

"Nat, I'm fine, I-"

"Shut up. You're a moron- a complete fucking suicidal moron. So shut up, you don't get to talk until after I've cleaned you up. Have to prove you're as tough at the other guys, so you let yourself bleed to death in some half destroyed food shop. Seriously? You're fine? Don't even start."

Clint wasn't about to argue- he really could use a little morphine and a couple of stitches right about now. He could only hope Natasha wasn't in such a bad mood she'd accidentally slip while stitching him... it wouldn't be the first time.

They arrived at Clint's assigned room, the second door in a hall similar to a college dorm. Each of the Avengers were given a room for the night as a safety precaution. With Loki still on Earth, they weren't about the let the team go their separate ways until Thor returned him to Asgard the next day. At the end of the hall was a common area, with a kitchen beyond that. It reminded Clint of boot camp. It reminded Natasha of a place she hated to be reminded of.

Without stopping to make themselves at home, Natasha steered Clint into the bathroom. After missions the partners always took care of each others' wounds- they had trust issues. So without hesitation, Natasha began removing Clint's gear; his bracers, holsters, and the minimal armor he wore in the fight all carefully placed to the side.

"Can you lift your arms, or are we scrapping the shirt?" It's all business with Natasha. Good thing, too, because Clint had always had a hard time keeping a line between them. He had heart, that's what Loki said, and it wasn't always a good thing. Natasha, though, really was a Black Widow. She wasn't exactly the romantic type and her lack of interest in relationships had kept their partnership strong. There had been many times over the years that Clint thought about crossing that line, but it was always Natasha that made sure it stayed in place. Even after waking from Loki's spell, after realizing what had happened, she kept it all business. That was one of the reasons Clint needed her.

"Cut it. It isn't like alien blood comes out in the wash."

Natasha worked silently, removing the shirt to reveal a few deep gashes and a good deal of bruising over his ribs. A few were definitely cracked, but nothing broken or requiring an actual doctor. Good thing, because she knew Clint wouldn't go. She went to work cleaning each wound, but didn't bother to stitch them up just yet. She could tell Clint was deep in thought; it was one of the only times his eyes weren't constantly scanning his surroundings. It was also the best time to study his face without him realizing it.

The red around his eyes, which had been so pronounced while Loki controlled his mind, had faded to a dull pink. But there was still something about his face, a little more gaunt perhaps, that still hinted his mind was not entirely returned to him. It wasn't that he was under Loki's control, more likely the echoes of what happened continued to haunt him. Natasha knew the feeling only too well; Loki's words to her during her interrogation seemed to constantly be fighting to the surface of her consciousness.

Once again, Natasha had to push those thoughts away before they brought with them images she couldn't bear to see. Instead she busied herself by turning on the shower and cleaning up the gauze and supplies she had gone through.

"Okay, I'm done for now. I'm giving you 15 minutes to get yourself as clean as you can without help, then I'm coming back in to finish up." Not that she cared about seeing him naked, but Clint was the old fashioned type. He hated to feel helpless, and she guessed he'd had enough of that in the past few days to last a lifetime.

Clint nodded that he heard her, but it was clear his mind was still elsewhere. Natasha closed the door to the bathroom, trying not to notice as her partner undressed and climbed into the shower. In the 15 minutes she gave him, Natasha went down the hall to her own room. Living on the run for a good portion of her life, she knew how to clean up quickly. Despite the battle taking a physical toll, she wasn't injured beyond the minor bumps and bruises. Stripping down and jumping into her own steaming shower, she scrubbed the grime and gore from her body as quickly as possible.

When she returned to Clint's room, Natasha decided to be courteous enough to give a quick knock before reentering the bathroom. He was standing against the sink, sweatpants replacing his cargo pants, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Of the two of them, she knew that he was the heart of their team. He took things personally, had trouble sleeping after difficult missions, and worried like a mother hen. Part of being the Hawk was keeping his distance- getting too close usually meant getting hurt. Natasha knew it would be a while before Clint recognized himself in the mirror again.

"Ready for me to stitch you up?" She asked, making an effort to sound kind.

"That depends," he replied, looking away from the mirror at last, "are you still pissed about before? Cause then I might just try and do it myself."

_Good_, Natasha thought,_ at least he's joking_. Clint had his own system of dealing with trauma, just like she did. His witty comments were one of his classic survival mechanisms. If he was being a wise ass, at least she knew he was keeping his head above water.

Rather than answer, Natasha spun him around so that she could get a closer look at the gashes. She had a feeling Clint had done something foolish and got himself hurt doing one of his stunts. In fact, it almost looked like...

"Clint, you didn't happen to go through a window, did you? Because I would think you'd remember the last time you tried going through a window." An image of Clint's calf, sliced to the bone, flashed through her mind.

"Listen Nat, it wasn't like I had an abundance of choices. I had to get out of there, and only had the one arrow left. Besides, I made sure to keep my feet even this time," he replied, trying not to wince as she threaded the needle through his shoulder.

She continued in silence for a while, concentrating on stitching evenly. Only two of the cuts really needed the stitches, which for Clint really wasn't too bad. He tried to take his mind off the pain by thinking back to the battle, analyzing their tactics, and contemplating how he could have done better.

Even that line of thinking led back to Natasha. When he saw her zooming by on an alien's back, her Widow Makers lodged into the unfortunate creature. In that moment, he was compromised. His mind was on her, making sure she was safe, and he lost his advantage. Going through the window was most certainly not in the plan, but it got him out of a tight spot without too much physical damage.

By the time Natasha finished stitching him up and wrapping his aching ribs, all the adrenaline from the battle had worn off. He was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. Mostly emotionally. The more he thought about the battle, the number of ways he could have lost her, how he nearly killed her himself... it was a dangerous path to follow. He didn't know how to stop himself from going to that place in his sleep.

Natasha, for her part, had no desire to sleep. She hated sleep, especially after a hard fight. The toll on her body made her sleep too deep and she would inevitably be plagued by nightmares. Not like Clint, whose dreams stemmed from that specific mission. Hers were always the same. Always from her past. Unless she had a sedative and a lookout, she did her best to avoid sleep.

"Listen, Nat, I need to get some rest. Do you think you could sleep here tonight?"

It wasn't the first time they'd done it. There was no one else who could understand like she could. Just having her there when he woke up made it a little bit easier. Knowing she was going through the same torture when she closed her eyes made it almost bearable.

Clint couldn't help but smile to himself when, instead of answering, Natasha went to the bed, threw him a pillow, and climbed under the covers. Apparently he got the couch whether or not his ribs were cracked.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch 3.

As Clint made his way to the closet to find a blanket, he realized that once again, Nat had his back. The bed faced the door, but had no view of the window. Even if she wasn't here, he would have chosen to sleep on the couch for the angle it afforded. On missions, she was always willing to give him the best surveillance spot, even if that meant she was at a disadvantage. It was just one of the many ways their partnership worked so well.

"Clint?"

He knew, without needing to turn around, that Natasha was right behind him. The tone in her voice was one that he rarely heard; it was vulnerable, a little shaky, even a bit nervous. It was a tone he only heard when they were alone, when she needed something, but couldn't put words to it. He hated to say it, but he actually looked forward to hearing that voice.

Turning, he silently wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her body gently against his. In response, he felt her relax into his chest, tucking her head under his chin. These were the moments he lived for, in a twisted way. When it all became too much for her and she just needed to be human for a minute. When she let down a few of her walls and allowed her emotions to show through. Each time, Clint considered kissing her. Sometimes, he pictured gently lifting her chin and placing a light kiss on her lips. Other times he imagined putting all his pent up passion and frustration into one deep, unforgettable kiss. But, like tonight, he couldn't bring himself to take that leap.

It wasn't that he wasn't brave enough. It would be easy to give in to what he wanted, far easier than stopping himself. But Nat wasn't just a beautiful woman; she was also the Black Widow. Taken as a child, trained as a Russian Spy; her life didn't include fairy tales and happy endings. She never talked about it, but he knew that part of her training included the art of seduction. He was sure that it wasn't a pleasant way to grow up. To her, physical intimacy was a means to an end.

In fact, this simple act of being held was about as intimate as she could get. Letting down her guard for a few minutes and accepting comfort was her way of saying how important he was to her. Clint knew that she needed to set the boundaries between them. To push her beyond what she could handle would make him just like every other man she had ever known. So, as easy as it would be to throw caution to the wind, he forced himself to stay in check.

Placing a quick kiss on top of her head was the compromise he always gave himself.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, as he always did in these moments. Sometimes she did, but it was the exception to the rule.

"Not now. Do you?" She replied without looking up. The regular rhythm of Clint's heartbeat gave her an anchor, helped her own pulse stop racing.

"Eventually. But I feel like I haven't quite wrapped my head around it yet."

She nodded against his chest. That was certainly true, for him even more than her. Hell, she'd spent years trying to get her head straight after leaving Russia for SHIELD. Clint had a lot of baggage to wade through on this one.

It was hard to say how long they stood there, just holding each other, but neither were willing to pull away first. It wasn't until the rest of the team returned, laughing and talking as they figured out which room belonged to who, that Clint and Natasha separated. It was a few minutes before the final door shut and silence once again filled the room, but it was enough for the moment to end. Clint grabbed a blanket and made himself comfortable on the couch, not an easy task when every part of his body seemed to protest movement of any kind. Natasha climbed into the bed, curled up, and fell asleep within moments.

Exhaustion slowly swept over Clint as he lay in the dark. As his eyes closed, he thought that perhaps he would get a full night's sleep after all.

_He saw her, but she didn't know he was there. It was the opportunity he'd been waiting for- the spider was out of her web and in the open. Without hesitating, he sent an arrow through her hand, pinning it to the wall. A second arrow through the other arm kept her in place while he approached. She was crying, he could see when he grew close. She was hoping to play to his pity. But he felt none; there was no place for emotion here. _

_It needed to be slow. He had a plan to ensure that she wouldn't die until he was finished with her. A knife would make things last longer. The blade was soon covered in her blood, her pleading voice barely noticeable as he worked._

_"Clint, please- it's Nat- please-"_

"Clint! It's Nat, wake up!" She called softly, trying to coax him out of the nightmare. Usually their roles were reversed, but Natasha hadn't managed more than a light slumber with Thor snoring in the next room. In a way, she was grateful- her nightmares couldn't grip her like they normally did. And when Clint began muttering her name as he slept, she was thankful once again to Thor, as she could be there to wake her partner.

Clint woke slowly, visibly shaking from the intensity of his dream. Natasha helped him sit up, his ribs protesting as he leaned his head into his hands, trying to hold himself together. In all his years as an assassin, he had never seen or done anything that disturbed him as much as this dream. He knew she was sitting by his side, a hand on his shoulder to give him comfort, and it made him sick.

"Nat-" even his voice shook, "I... it wasn't even a dream. It was the plan I had. How I was going to kill you when..." He shuddered, not lifting his head, unable to look at her. Maybe he had been under Loki's control, but the plan was his. The torture, the meticulous exploitation of everything he knew she feared- that was him. Loki didn't put that plan in his head- he just said to kill her when the time came. Clint did the rest.

"Clint, I need you to look at me." Natasha waited, trying to use some of the patience that came so naturally to her partner. But when he pressed his eyes tighter against his hands, she switched to the tactic that came naturally to her.

"Dammit Clint, look at me!" She was satisfied to see that this startled him into a response, his face lifting in surprise.

"You aren't that person. The Clint that planned to kill me had no conscience- there was no right or wrong, just the mission. That isn't you and you know it. You can't put those things on yourself- believe me, it doesn't end well. I still trust you, do you hear me?"

He nodded. He heard her, that wasn't the problem. No amount of logic or understanding could make this better. The feeling of satisfaction when he sent that arrow through her was lingering. Even if Natasha trusted him, he couldn't quite trust himself. Unable to sit still, Clint got up and began to pace. Natasha stayed where she was, waiting for whatever it was that he had to get off his chest. It only took a few laps before the words started spilling out of him, anguish on his face.

"I feel like... I'm not sure I can describe it. I know this is my mind and my body, but Loki took them from me so quickly. For all my training, all the ways I know to keep myself safe, I was powerless to stop him. The entire time I was aware- I knew what he was doing and the part I was playing, but I was split within my own mind. Every emotion, all my individuality and personality, everything that makes me who I am was locked away. Not just locked away... I was lost in my own mind. I was surrounded by all my greatest fears and weaknesses. I relived every terrible memory I have, saw everyone I care about die at my hands. While the rest of me- the mindless soldier, Loki's plaything, betrayed my deepest secrets. I turned on myself, telling Loki how to hurt the people closest to me. Strategizing how to make those fears a reality. I wasn't a robot, doing as I was told; it was so much worse than that. All Loki had to do was pit me against myself. How can I trust myself now? How do I know if my thoughts and actions are my own? It's maddening..."

Clint finally stopped, seeming far more exhausted now than he had earlier. He leaned against the arm of the couch, running a hand through his short hair and breathing fast. It occurred to Natasha that he was fighting back tears. That, more than anything, told her how deep this hurt went. Clint wasn't the crying type- not because he thought it wasn't masculine or was a sign of weakness. It was because he could distance himself from any situation, stick to the job at hand, and get past it. But this was beyond his ability to back away; it was within his own mind.

She got up slowly, making her movements as nonthreatening as possible. Approaching his side, Natasha tried to think of something to say. But really, what could words do for Clint now? Instead, leaning on the couch next to him, she slipped her hand into his. She had never told him, but she loved his hands. The callouses over the fingers from a lifetime of archery, the strength in each finger.

Slowly his breathing evened out as he regained control. Nat had that effect on him- he was always more focused when she was close. The images began to fade, replaced with the sight of her doing her best to comfort him. He was more grateful than he could ever say that she didn't hit the ground running when he told her that she was the star performer in his nightmare.

"Listen, Nat, you don't have to stay. I mean, I wouldn't blame you if you don't want to be in the same room as me while I'm sleeping, just in case." He tried to sound convincing, like it really didn't matter, while keeping his eyes from her so she couldn't see the truth there. The fear of being alone, of being without her, was something he wanted to keep to himself.

She quirked an eyebrow at him, "Yeah, right. Very tempting, but you couldn't get the jump on me fully conscious and armed, let alone while sleepwalking. I'll take my chances, thanks."

Clint realized he was smiling. For all her blunt, scathing, and sassy comments, he couldn't think of anyone else he'd want here with him. When she stood up to walk back to the bed without releasing his hand, he hesitated. Suddenly his mind was racing again, but with much more pleasant images of Nat.

"What? We won't both fit on the couch, so you can forget about having an ideal vantage point tonight. I need to get a few hours of sleep and it isn't going to happen if you aren't with me. You okay with that?"

Rather than answer, Clint obediently followed Natasha to the bed, climbing up next to her and getting comfortable. Once he was settled she turned to him and placed a soft kiss to his forehead before curling against his side under the covers. To Clint, it was almost as good as sex. Almost.

When Natasha woke up, she knew exactly where she was. Clint's strong body was melted against hers, his deep breathing ruffling her hair and tickling the back of her neck. His arm lined up perfectly with her own, his fingers intertwined with hers. The Black Widow was spooning. _There's a first time for everything,_ she thought happily.

"Any nightmares Nat?" He asked, his voice gruff from sleep. So he was awake after all.

"None. I'd call it a first," she replied, sliding her fingers along his own, tracing the lines and scars gently. Suddenly she noticed the clock, flashing 7:06am, and sat bolt upright. "Shit! Do you know what time it is? We slept for almost 6 hours! We need to-"

"Need to what, Nat?" Clint asked, laughing. "We don't exactly have a mission and I probably shouldn't be training for a few days. Fury wants to see us at 10, Thor and Loki blast off at noon, but otherwise we have the day to ourselves."

Natasha relaxed back into the covers, turning onto her side to face Clint. He looked well rested, happy even, lying a few inches away. This was a situation she hadn't prepared herself for- usually they only shared a bed when their cover was as a couple.

"You know, we still have a few hours," Clint murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have a pretty good idea of how we could spend it."

For the life of her, Natasha couldn't figure out what that glint in his eye could mean.

**Bahaha! I am addicted to these two. But not to worry, the rest of the gang will get their appearance soon enough. Thanks for all the comments, they really add fuel to the fire! **

**Stay tuned to read all the sticky details about what these two do with their free time!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

Natasha Romanoff- spy, assassin, Black Widow- was in heaven. Her senses were completely overwhelmed, her mouth watering in anticipation.

"Soon, Nat. You only have to wait a little longer." Clint turned back to the stove, flipping the French Toast one final time. He loved to cook for her; she hated to wait for anything, but he knew that timing was critical when it came to good food. The cinnamon and nutmeg mixed with the smell of maple syrup to create a tantalizing scent in the air of the kitchen. While keeping busy at the stove, he stole glances at his partner who was sitting on the counter next to him. The past few days had been some of the worst in his life, yet somehow he felt like grinning like an idiot because of this woman.

"You've been saying that for at least 5 minutes. I'm about to turn into a lady-hulk right here in the kitchen and kick your ass if I see you flip those one more time. Not that I'm not grateful- I can't even remember the last time I had French Toast." She finished with a half smile, the kind he knew she meant in a genuine, I'm-not-messing-with-your-head kind of way.

"Do I detect the delicate smell of a good breakfast?"

Natasha couldn't contain the low growl at the sound of Tony Stark's voice. Somehow, her perfect breakfast didn't include his snide remarks in her imagination.

"Morning Mr. Stark. I'm just finishing up the first batch, but there's plenty more where that came from," Clint replied politely, knowing how annoyed it would make Nat to invite Ironman to their breakfast table.

"Oh, Clint, you wound me- it's Tony. Or at least Mr. Ironman. Either or. Besides, I feel like we should be on a first name basis. We saved the world together and all. Not to mention I managed to spy on you two little lovebirds for the past 10 minutes without you noticing. I'd say we're on an even level, professionally speaking. I figured I'd at least catch you making out- maple syrup is a great aphrodisiac."

He could have kept going. In fact, if no one ever interrupted him, Tony was sure he could talk endlessly. But it didn't escape him that Agent Romanoff had slipped a knife out of a drawer and was twirling it idly between her fingers. Clint, poor guy, clearly hadn't been around him enough yet and actually looked surprised.

_A shocked face was better than coffee in the morning_, Tony thought as he pulled a chair up to the table with his favorite 'how cool am I' smile on his face.

"You know, Tony, it isn't a good idea to spy on a spy," Clint replied. "You were awake at 6:00 on the dot. Called Pepper after hitting the john, spoke for roughly 45 minutes before taking a shower. You began your preliminary plans to rebuild your tower with, what's his name? JARVIS? I noticed that he always laughs at your jokes- did you design him to do that? When you heard Nat and I heading to the kitchen you managed to wait a whole 7 minutes before sneaking down the hall to spy on us. You did a good job, kept your breathing even and quiet, even made sure your shadow didn't cross our line of sight. If I hadn't been keeping tabs on you since I woke up, you totally would have had me on that one."

Clint wasn't aiming to intimidate his fellow Avenger, just give him an idea of where the line was. To his surprise, Tony's grin only got bigger. Soon, the guy wouldn't shut up about getting some assassin lessons from his two favorite spies. Natasha managed to keep from throwing the knife at him until he asked if the spies shared a room to keep track of one another's sleep cycles or to interrupt them.

"Food's done," Clint announced as Natasha reached for the knife drawer again. "Tony, you aren't going to get that knife out of the table any time soon. Just rip the shirt, I'm sure you have another 3 of those Muppet Treasure Island tees at your tower. And Nat, can we stick to a minimal level of violence during breakfast? Most important meal of the day and all that." The glean was back in Clint's eye. It was that, more than anything, that made Natasha agree to his conditions.

"Did someone say breakfast? Think you could spare a little?" Bruce peeked around the door, looking as apprehensive as ever about putting himself in a contained space with other people.

Tony's face lit up. "If it isn't my favorite rage-monster! I'm glad you're here, I may need you on my side if there's a fight. Tell me, in your professional opinion, how long do you think our spies have been playing Mr and Mrs Smith?"

Bruce had the decency to blush and refuse to answer. Natasha had enough of an answer for all of them; luckily it was all in Russian and only Clint understood how many ways she was threatening Tony's life. He laughed out loud- no one in SHIELD had the balls to mess with Natasha. Tony was the right mixture of confident and stupid to get away with it for a little while, much to Clint's amusement.

"In Asgard, it is considered a bad omen to fight before breaking fast. Is there more of that square bread? I'd be happy to spar a bit after eating." Thor, as usual, seemed to think the imminent violence at the table was routine behavior. Tony could only hope he'd save his headlock for someone who didn't need armor to withstand crushing pressure.

Luckily, Steve followed the demigod into the kitchen and wordlessly took over the cooking. Clint stood against the counter, eating his French Toast in silence while enjoying the show. Being a part of a team, though often necessary in his line of work, had never been this comfortable. Which was strange, considering the mismatched group of people included in this team.

As Natasha and Tony's bickering grew more heated, Captain leaned over to Clint, "Should we step in? Tony isn't exactly gifted when it comes to knowing his boundaries and it sounds like Romanoff doesn't want your relationship to be the subject of attention."

It took Clint a few moments before he could answer, as a large portion of French Toast had lodged itself in his throat. How was it that a bunch of superheroes had nothing better to talk about than his relationship with Natasha? Saving the world one day, gossiping the next.

"Hold on now. Do you mean to tell me that a demigod, a super-soldier, Ironman, and the hulk are all a bunch of romantics? When did you come up with this relationship theory?" He asked, looking like a disciplinary schoolteacher.

Banner was the first to answer, "Last night. You two, you know, left together. Like, physically attached at the hip. Tony noticed..."

"Oh right, because the Jolly Green Giant didn't put down $10 on our wager." Tony threw back at him. "I'm still waiting for you to pay up, you know."

"Plus there was the part with Loki," Steve added, "and Natasha's interview with him-"

"Hold on, Stark," Natasha quickly interrupted. "What wager are you talking about? Clint and I can probably settle that for you right now if you just ask. Go ahead, I'll give you one question with a guaranteed honest answer."

That put a stop to the chattering. Clint realized he was holding his breath. In fact, he wanted to freeze the entire room for just a minute. One question? Tony didn't realize what an invitation this was coming from Natasha. Knowing Tony, he'd waste his question on something stupid like if they slept together last night. But there were so many things, important things, that could be revealed with one honestly answered question.

"Well, this is two separate issues. Our wager, the first, is already settled. We bet on whether or not you two super-spies would bunk up together last night. You did, though what happened behind closed doors is beyond my ability to imagine. Trust me, I tried. That still means Captain, you and Brucey need to pay up," Tony paused while the men pulled out their wallets and handed over the bills. "As for my question... who do you think is cooler; Batman or Superman? And I'm talking overall coolness, not situational. Don't even look for a loophole."

Clint groaned. _Seriously_? It was a good thing he only had a fork on him, because his trigger finger had a definite itch. He could tell from Nat's expression that she was relieved. She wouldn't go back on her word, she would have answered any question Tony asked. But he was surprised she offered in the first place- he must have gotten under her skin without her realizing it.

"Batman. Is it even a question? He wasn't given any special ability- the guy worked hard and had a bank account to back him up. A self-made super hero."

Well, that didn't go over too well. Thor, Steve, and Banner all took offense to the implication that their abilities weren't earned. Tony, for his part, seemed like that was exactly what he was hoping would happen, and insisted on throwing out random arguments in support of Spiderman, which everyone ignored completely. Despite the constant bickering, it actually afforded Clint and Natasha a few minutes of peace. They exchanged the occasional amused look, once again saying more to one another without words. By the time Thor had Tony in a headlock that looked to be slowly crushing the billionaire's windpipe, the spies had determined their plan of escape.

However, it was interrupted by the arrival of a group of agents and PR people. The combination of serious suits and bubbly, smiling faces was almost as strange as their own group. The happy faces explained the importance of 'getting out there' and 'showing the world who their heroes are' and some other crap. One good thing about being a spy? Your secret identity has to remain secret. Both Clint and Natasha had their own personal public personas; someone who dealt with the press any time a mission was public enough to require a media spot.

Looking thoroughly unhappy, the other members of the team were led off to do hair and makeup, their PR team chattering nonstop about their angle and schedule. As the door at the end of the hall closed and calm was restored, he nearly jumped at the sound of Natasha's laugh.

When she noticed Clint's slightly bewildered expression at her outburst, she managed to stop herself long enough to get out, "Karma's a bitch- Stark hates the media unless he's flying overhead in his suit."

That was all she could say before slipping back into giggles, this time with Clint chuckling along with her.

**Was that fun or what? Did I get you guys? Mmmmm French Toast... Sadly, I'll work my long days tomorrow and Wednesday, so you may not get the next chapter until Thursday. But I'm writing from now until I drop, so you may get that update sooner. Your reviews certainly keep me motivated (especially the ones that make me laugh- rosewriter17, I'm looking at you.)**

**As a side note, I had a dream last night in which Loki continued to make appearances. In a dress. Not saying it'll end up in the story, but how fantastic is that?  
**


	5. Chapter 5

There was something incredibly peaceful about doing the dishes. She washed, he dried. It was almost domestic and seemed to spark some long-gone childhood memory. It was rare for Natasha to give a thought to her childhood. There were no memories left, the Russian government made absolutely sure of that, but she knew there had been, once. She wasn't born the Black Widow. That part of her, nearly every part of her, had been created at the hands of men.

The sound of the running water also brought up memories, but of a less pleasant sort. That seemed to happen far more often; the sharp sound of electricity, the metallic click of chains, even the flash of a camera caused those memories to return. Like bile in her throat, she had learned to simply swallow them down. Peaceful moments were rare- she wanted to enjoy this one.

"Tasha?" Clint sounded a little wary. He was avoiding eye contact. That wasn't generally a good sign.

"Hmm?"

"You don't have to tell me, but I noticed your reaction to what Steve said at breakfast. You didn't tell me you interrogated Loki." Clint continued scrubbing a pan, his eyes never leaving the sink, while carefully taking in his partner's body language and breathing in his peripheral vision.

"I only spoke to him briefly. Seems that it isn't just humans that underestimate my ability to get information. Loki told me what I needed to know in under 5 minutes. You should have seen the look on his face when he realized I had him. Classic."

Damn, she was good. In fact, that was the only clue Clint had that it was an act. Nat was completely unfazed, not even a flinch. Like him, she lied better than she told the truth. But he went along with it, chuckling like he believed her. The archer in him knew that this wasn't the moment; he could wait her out. Patience was his game, not hers.

"I think you missed a spot on that one, it's still wet," Clint said, looking entirely too serious as he shot water at one of the most dangerous women in the world, splashing her hair, shirt, and the plate she was holding all at once.

The battle that ensued was one for the books- songs should have been written in honor of it. Clint managed to get the majority of the kitchen drenched before Natasha got the hose out of his grasp. She seriously contemplated drowning the man who stood laughing in front of her, holding his ribs in pain but unable to stop. When the first wave of icy cold water hit him in the face, however, he managed it.

"I surrender! I surrender! Please, oh mighty and powerful Black Widow, anything but the water treatment!" Clint begged dramatically, his hands in the air. Having both been on the receiving end of a water board at one time in their lives, they could appreciate how tame this water torture really was.

Natasha smiled in that way that meant trouble. "I could show you mercy, but you would owe me one. Can you accept that?"

Nothing would make him happier.

After a quick towel dry and a change of clothes, both SHIELD agents made their way down to the lowest levels of their current headquarters in order to meet with Fury for a debriefing. Natasha wasn't exactly looking forward to it; technically they had gone rogue in order to fly a jet into a restricted airway. Where they proceeded to blow up more than a few important buildings. Plus they totaled the Quinjet. She was guessing Fury would be taking those funds out of their allowance.

But if she was nervous it was nothing compared to Clint. He seemed incredibly on edge, constantly fiddling with his jacket and adjusting his sunglasses on his head. She knew that if he'd had his bow with him, he'd be testing and retesting the string- a nervous habit she found incredibly irritating.

Speaking of irritating, she couldn't help but replay the conversation the group had at breakfast. Steve was a nice guy and all, but he could be a bit numb at times. Luckily, Stark was the exact opposite of Captain America. Sure, the guy was self obsessed, snide, and had the maturity level of a 13 year old, but he knew about keeping things close to the vest. She would have to find a way to thank him from diverting attention away from her conversation with Loki. Not that his ego needed any help growing. Maybe she'd just refrain from trying to kill him for the rest of the day...

"Agents. Take a seat. We have a few things to discuss while the rest of the team is working on the media." Fury, serious as ever, actually seemed a bit worn down. Natasha quickly assessed the worry lines on his forehead, deeper than usual, and the way he kept rubbing a hand over his face like he hadn't been sleeping. If she had to guess, she'd say that the counsel had been riding him pretty hard about the Avengers Initiative taking out half the city when they weren't even supposed to exist.

"Romanoff, Barton, let me lay it on the line for you. There are going to be some big changes in SHIELD after this incident with Loki. Your roles will essentially remain the same. You're the best assassins we have, making your skill sets more important than ever. The Avengers Initiative will move forward as planned- with a little more input from our friends at the counsel. I can't tell you exactly what that means at this point, but I will inform you when I know more.

"Right now we have a few immediate needs that must be met. At noon, Thor will return Loki to Asgard. This afternoon is Agent Coulson's memorial service. I know you'd both like to be there to give your respects, but it is imperative that you do not attend."

At this, both Clint and Natasha began to interrupt, shocked that Fury would try to keep them from their handler's service. They could barely get in a word or two- Natasha's in Russian- before Fury held up a hand to silence them.

"I know, I know. But now more than ever we must be concerned with keeping your identities a secret. The battle of New York was chaotic enough that no one caught images of your face. At least, not that we know of. Unlike the other members of the team, anonymity is crucial for you both. You have too many enemies and you are too critical as undercover agents for us to take a risk. Your role in the Avengers Initiative is more complex than simply showing up as a superhero when times are tough and saving the world. You two will be saving the world when no one even knows it's at risk. I shouldn't need to tell you that, so stop looking at me like I just gave you detention."

Natasha took a deep breath. She understood, probably better than Clint. The Black Widow was an identity that was well known but had no face. If she showed up on the nightly news, her enemies would not only know who she was, but also who she was close to. They would see Clint as well; that was a risk she couldn't take. Clint also knew that Fury was correct, but it was hitting a little too close to home for him to accept the decision. Coulson should never have been in the line of fire; the guilt of all that had happened under Loki's control once again washed over him. It was all he could do to remain in his seat and breathe evenly.

"With that in mind, I need you both to clear out for the day as soon as Thor and Loki lift off. Take a trip or stay at Stark Tower- fly to Europe for a day for all I care. Just go pretend to be normal people for a change. Tomorrow you'll be leading a team through the city to collect any and all alien technology that the Chitauri brought along. Dr. Banner and Captain America will lead a second team to help track and tag, but with all the structural damage to some of these buildings I'll need your skills to get in and out safely before the government can clear out the bodies. Agent Romanoff, go sign out a vehicle and supplies for the day. Agent Barton, I need a word."

Natasha left silently, trying to communicate to Fury to tread lightly with Barton through her eyes as she walked out the door. At least she got to pick the car- Clint always wanted to drive some big clunky SUV when it was his choice. She liked something a little more... sleek.

"Permission to speak, sir," Clint said as soon as the door clicked behind Natasha.

"Speak freely, Barton," Fury replied, expecting to get an earful about forcing the assassin to take a day off.

"Sir, I wanted to apologize. You know, for shooting you. I'm prepared to accept any disciplinary action for the damage I caused." Clint had been hoping for an opportunity to let his director know that he really was sorry about that. Even though there were times when he considered it without any mind control.

"Apologize? Hell, agent, you saved my life. When you are faced with an enemy wearing body armor and you want to kill them, do you aim for their chest? No. You put one right between the eyes. Mind control or not, Barton, you made sure I didn't die. If Loki had taken anyone else in that room under his control, I have no doubt I wouldn't be standing here right now. So thank you. Will you be ready to report for duty tomorrow?"

"Yes sir. And thank you. That's about the most comforting thing anyone's been able to say to me about that. Sir, there's something else."

"What is it Barton?"

"I was hoping to see surveillance footage from Loki's imprisonment. For tactical purposes."

_Tactical purposes my ass, _Fury thought. He knew exactly what Barton was looking for- the man needed to know everything he had missed. Fury knew that, had their positions been reversed, he would have wanted the same thing. He nodded to his agent, pulling up the recordings on a computer before leaving the room.

**Phew- I don't recommend working 13hr days to anyone who values their sanity. This chapter is sort of just a 'moving things along' type. The Blackhawke tale that won't get out of my head is mostly a few big scenes that need to be linked together for cohesion's sake. The next chapter will be so much better, I promise!  
**

**As always, your reviews make me so happy! Just stopping by to say you're reading and enjoying if a huge inspiration to stay up late and keep typing. Also, I have a question- which Nat/Clint interaction was your favorite in the movie? I'll tell you mine next time!  
**


	6. Chapter 6

He was supposed to meet Nat out front ten minutes ago and she was beginning to worry. She had passed Fury on her way out the door, so she knew they weren't still talking, but it wasn't like him to be late. That was when she saw it- a reflection from the roof of the building. It was gone in a second and wouldn't mean a thing to anyone else, but Natasha wasted no time walking back inside and hitting the button for the elevator.

Clint hadn't known where to go. Watching the video, seeing the evil pleasure twisting Loki's features as he hit home, the tears in Nat's eyes... After punching a hole through the wall and cursing for several long minutes he was overcome with exhaustion. He needed perspective, and for perspective he needed the open air and clear view that the roof would provide. He should have known she'd find him there; he barely had time to compose his face as the access door opened and she approached him without hesitation.

"Hey Hawkboy- you aren't planning to fly to Central Park, are you?" She teased, not missing the tension in his posture and confusion in his eyes. When Clint barely cracked a smile, she became concerned. Always the contemplative type, Nat knew there were times that her partner was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even hear the people around him. It made her curious as to what Fury said when she left the room.

Since Clint was choosing to ignore her, she decided to climb up to the ledge he was perching on and get comfortable. Unlike him, Natasha had never loved heights. She liked having solid ground to stand on with a wall to her back, while he was never happy unless there was a chance he could fall to his death. It was one of the many differences between them that made the two such a good team. Without thinking, Natasha slid her hand into Clint's where it was gripping the stone ledge.

That snapped him out of his internal debate. He was torn between simply telling Nat that he had watched the interrogation or waiting. After all, she clearly hadn't wanted him to know about it. It was an extremely vulnerable moment for her, something the Russian avoided at all cost, especially during a mission as important as this one had been. With everyone else Natasha could play that off as her strategy to get Loki talking, but Clint had seen her play the emotional female a million times. This was different; she was genuinely shaken by Loki's words. Suddenly, he knew exactly what Natasha had meant in the infirmary when she said she'd been compromised.

He squeezed her hand gently, letting her know he was back. To himself he concluded that he'd wait. That was his strong suit, after all. Natasha couldn't be swept off her feet like a school girl; if she wasn't ready to tell him about Loki's threat and what it had done to her than he would give her time. It only took Clint a few short minutes after emerging from Loki's control to realize that she was the only thing he couldn't live without, the only person in this world he needed to be okay. For the first time, he had hope that she felt the same way.

"Thanks Nat," he said softly, meeting her eyes so that she could see how much he meant it.

"Any time. Ready to kiss Loki goodbye once and for all?" That got her the smile she was looking for. The smile that never failed to brighten her day just a little bit. She let go of his hand to jump back to the roof, letting a smile of her own slide to her lips.

"Oh, and remember how you owe me one? Well, I'm cashing in. Once that bastard is off our planet, we're going to Coney Island and spending the rest of the day acting like a couple of normal human beings. You will ride the Ferris Wheel, eat fried dough, and win me a giant stuffed something, without mentioning aliens or SHIELD or, and I mean this one, Tony Stark. Are we clear?"

Clint groaned out loud, making a show of jumping back onto the ledge they had just left and contemplating going over the edge. Natasha didn't even bat an eye, though Clint was fairly certain he saw her reach for her holster with a raised eyebrow. He got that message loud and clear.

"Right. Normal human being or you kick my ass into next week. But do I have to ride the Ferris Wheel? I've seen those things put together- it isn't exactly the model of safety. I'd rather catch a ride with Thor and his spinning hammer of doom, to be honest. Did you at least get us a good car? Don't tell me you picked another sporty little toy car. You did, didn't you? Honestly, Nat, we put our lives at risk every day and you can't even pick something with roll bars? Sometimes you worry me."

Their easy banter continued all the way to the park, lightening the mood considerably. They were having so much fun teasing one another and joking around that it must have shown on their faces.

"Hey, trained super-assassins," Tony said upon their arrival, "think you could at least look like you care about the evil genius demigod we're shooting off into space? Hell, for all we know he still has a few alien buddies lurking around to put a dent in my day. Amateurs."

Clint shook his head, "Sorry Irongirl, we'll try to take a leaf out of your book and be a little more serious about this whole thing."

"Ignore him, Clint," Natasha muttered, "he's just cranky cause he isn't in his special robo-suit. But don't you worry, Tony, I'm still armed and dangerous enough for both of us." She flashed him a half smile, trying to thank him for earlier. When he winked in reply, she rolled her eyes, wishing she wasn't being so uncharacteristically nice.

Soon the convoy was rolling up with Loki inside, contained by every precaution they could think to take- including Thor. Clint was relieved to be getting this over with. He wasn't exactly looking forward to spending the day in a crowd of teenagers, but he needed Loki to be off his planet once and for all. Even standing there, completely defeated and facing a punishment he couldn't even imagine, the smug bastard looked amused. It made Clint itch for his bow, or even a throwing knife. He'd even settle for a fork and 5 minutes alone with the cause of all his torment.

Nat must have been thinking along the same lines, because she suddenly turned into him to whisper in his ear.

"You know, there's still time to put an arrow through his eye. A little parting gift from us to him."

Damn, but that woman knew exactly how to get through to him. He made sure to make his smile wide and maybe a little sinister, as Loki had been watching him constantly since being escorted out of the transport van. He wanted that smile to say '_see? You came to tear us down, but we're stronger than ever.'_

As Thor and Loki disappeared from sight, Clint was surprised to feel Nat leaning against his side. Not in an obvious way, but almost as if she needed to feel his body next to hers as some sort of reassurance. It was good to know she needed that as much as he did.

As his teammates began to go in their separate directions, Nat wondered when they would all be together again. She was about as far from a team player as any person could get, but this rag-tag group of superfreaks had really grown on her. Did she trust them? No, not yet. But she wanted to give them a chance; the first time she had felt that way since Clint offered to spare her life in exchange for her alliance. She was happy to see Bruce leave with Tony- no doubt they'd be playing mad scientist and blowing up even more of the city before too long. Watching Steve ride off on his motorcycle gave her a pang of nostalgia- how often had that been her? Sad, alone, and more than a little lost in the world. He'd find his way back, though it wouldn't be without his fair share of heartache.

"Nat? You ready to get this day of fun started? Because I'm driving." Clint called from their car- opening the passenger door for him. She had to remind herself that while Clint was unlike any man she knew, he was still a man. So she'd let him drive this time, but she'd be damned if he wasn't going on that Ferris Wheel with her.

**So do you want to know my favorite BlackHawk scene from the movie? It's this one! She leans in to whisper in his ear, he doesn't move a muscle except to smile- now that's good stuff! Love their dynamic in the movie!**

**Expect another update on Monday- I am literally scheduling writing time into my work schedule because all your reviews have made me so happy :D Thanks!  
**

**So my next question for all you lovely readers- how long do you want to see this story go on? I have two versions in my head, one that will give you 2-3 more chapters but more instant gratification (if you catch my drift) and one that will play out over a longer period of time with a little more depth/action/original story. Plus gratification of a less instantaneous variety. Thoughts?  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: I have never been to Coney Island. Nor do I have a clue about the general scenery and driving distance. So, like me, use your imagination and we can pretend this is completely accurate :D Thanks!**

Screaming kids, huge crowds, and no exit strategy. How was this Nat's idea of a good time? They weren't even in the amusement park and Clint was already wishing he was back in the car. Unlike Natasha, his childhood memories were still crystal clear. Raised in the circus, his deadly accuracy with a bow used as sideshow entertainment, Clint had no desire to relive that portion of his life. He had never told his partner about his time in the circus, so he couldn't blame her for something she wasn't aware of. Still, Coney Island?

"What exactly led to your decision to come here?" He asked her as she paid for their tickets with the cash SHIELD had provided. She didn't answer right away; instead, she walked ahead into the maze of booths, rides, and food stalls, turning to take it all in.

"When I first came to this country as a young intelligence agent, I was stationed on a boat just off the harbor. I could see the rides and hear the sounds from the park during sentry duty. Once I even watched a fireworks display, but we didn't exactly get a day off to see the sights. I think it was one of those things that I wanted even more because I couldn't have it. I'm not sure why it came to my mind today after all this time, but I figured this was my only chance."

Wanting something he couldn't have; now that was a situation Clint knew all about. In the spirit of wishes finally fulfilled, the agent decided to put aside his misgivings and just have a good time, for Natasha's sake. Slinging an arm around her shoulders, Clint put on a smile and guided her through the streams of people moving in every direction.

"Well then, where should we start? Fried dough? Games? Actually, we may want to save the games for last. Carnies don't exactly like people who can win at everything, and I plan to rob them blind. There won't be a single stuffed bear left when we're done. Or we can get the rides over with. I don't care how much I owe you, Nat, you won't be getting me on that Ferris Wheel. Or the teacups- I can't handle all that spinning."

Their good natured argument lasted all the way to the ticked booth, where SHIELD once again covered the cost of an arm-length of tickets. Trying to play fair, Natasha let Clint pick the first ride. She'd be damned if she wasn't getting him on that Ferris Wheel, but she could wait until the moment was right before she twisted his arm. Rather than tell her, Clint took her hand and practically dragged her to a nearby line. She was getting used to this simple gesture, even enjoyed the dependance she felt when her small hand was enveloped in his. Especially here, playing at normal- to anyone looking on, they were on a date. Natasha Romanoff, Russian Spy, on a date. Fake or not, she was mildly amused that Clint was involved in so many 'firsts' in her career.

"Hold on," Natasha said, taking note of their surroundings, "the Fun House? Isn't this a little kid thing?" She looked skeptically at the slide, the mirrors, the rotating tunnel that doubled as an entrance. Sometimes Clint worried her.

"No! The Fun House is... well... fun. I want to see if this little house of tricks can trip up the Black Wi-" Clint was stopped by a finger on his lips and a less than subtle glare from the woman in front of him. Right; secret identity. Luckily, there was so much noise and distraction that no one seemed to be paying them any attention at all. They reached the front of the line after a few minutes and made their way into the Fun House.

As they reemerged, Natasha couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so much. The image of Clint tripping over the spring loaded floor tile played over and over in her head. Clint, too, seemed incapable of stopping himself from chuckling, though it hurt his ribs to do so.

"Oh man, Nat, your face was priceless when the mirrors started to move. I honestly thought you'd just start smashing them if you couldn't figure it out."

"Me? You tripped. You! Taken to the floor by a carnival ride. Even the 5 year olds behind us were laughing!"

After several more rides, a little fried food, and even more laughter, Clint was just about ready to win some games and hit the road. His hand had practically been glued to Nat's all afternoon, so when she stopped walking he felt the tug on his arm and turned to see what had slowed her down. It was the Ferris Wheel.

"Oh, come on Clint. You're really trying to tell me that you think this ride is any more dangerous than that giant swinging Viking ship? I don't buy it. Either tell me why you hate the Ferris Wheel or man up and get in line."

Neither of those choices seemed all that appealing to Clint. He didn't like the Ferris Wheel because it meant something to him. It was a romantic symbol of the life he had once led- the place he went with his former lover to get away from the drama and danger of the circus and simply be together. To go on it with Natasha... he simply didn't trust himself to respect the boundaries he had set for himself. But he couldn't exactly tell her that, so he sighed deeply and stepped up to stand in the line with her.

"You're a good man, Clint."

Her tone suggested she was messing with him again, but her eyes were nothing but honest. He loved that about her, about their connection. Everything they said or did had layers to it- degrees of understanding that made it impossible for someone observing them to detect. As he helped her into their swinging compartment and lowered the bar across their laps, she once again reached for his hand.

As the wheel began to turn they rose up slowly, stopping periodically as people below got on and off. They remained silent, enjoying the cool air of early evening as it swept through their hair. When Natasha spoke it was barely above a whisper, but Clint had no trouble hearing her. He never had trouble catching her voice on the wind.

"Loki got into my head. Not like he did to you, not completely and totally. But he said things to me; things about you. We only spoke for a few minutes, but it was as if he knew exactly how to shake me up. He used you against me and for the first time, I realized that I had a weakness. It's you, Clint. You're more important to me than the mission."

He tried to catch her eye, but she was resolutely looking in the other direction. He knew how incredibly difficult it was to come to terms with the idea that years of training were rendered helpless in the face of true emotion.

"Why are you telling me this?" He needed to know where she stood, assuming she herself knew.

Finally, she turned to meet his gaze. "You deserve to know. You're my partner, Clint, and the only person in the world I can trust completely. If anyone should know that I'm compromised, it's you. Red in my ledger or not, you're stuck with me." Tears made her eyes shimmer, threatening to spill down her cheeks at any moment.

_Boundaries_, Clint reminded himself as he wrapped Natasha in his arms. Stroking her hair and placing a kiss on the crown of her head, he held her for the remainder of the ride, trying to wrap his head around her confession. As they got off the Ferris Wheel and made their way back to the parking lot, Clint did his best to keep the grin from his face.

The sun was setting as they drove along the shoreline, taking the long way back into the city. Suddenly, Clint pulled the car off the road and parked in a scenic rest stop. Natasha was genuinely confused, even more so when her partner pulled a pair of pistols from the glove compartment.

"Coulson."

She understood. Her life had been taking so many twists and turns throughout the day, but that hadn't stopped the grief from tugging at the back of her mind. Coulson, one of the few agents willing to work with her when she came to SHIELD. Coulson, who knew exactly what to say and when to say it. She had been concerned with how Clint would respond to her confession about Loki's interrogation while her friend and handler was forever lost to this world. If he had loved ones, she didn't know it. But he had them and he had his duty. For those things, he was willing to die.

At the edge of the lot was a steel rail, beyond that a short stretch of grass ending in a rocky cliff above the water. It was beautiful and somehow sad. It was perfect.

Clint stood at attention, always the soldier. Natasha stood by his side, still and poised. As one, they lifted their weapons to the East.

"To Agent Coulson," Clint said.

"May he rest in peace," Natasha replied.

Their shots rang out over the water, startling the birds below. After a moment of silence, they returned to their car and continued their journey back into the city, hands once again linked together between their seats.

**Did I get you? All that Ferris Wheel romance, and still no kiss? Not to worry, I have big plans for that first kiss. Clint couldn't waste it on the Ferris Wheel. **

**In other news, there was an overwhelming 'Huzzah' for the long version of the story, which is fine by me- more plotting and planning about Clint and Nat is time well spent in my book! We'll see what kind of dust we can kick up in the next few chapters. Until then, your reviews make me oh so happy! Just adds fuel to the fire that is my imagination!  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**I believe this is the part where I apologize profusely for not updating! There was a terrible combination of getting sick, losing my inspiration for the story, and being too busy to track it down and force it into submission. This chapter is incredibly short, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging any longer. I am now back on track and excited to write the next part of this story- thanks for all your reviews. They helped kick my butt back into writing mode!  
**

**Ch. 8  
**

The ride back into the city was a silent one. Natasha's thoughts centered around Clint; he reacted to her confession that she was compromised almost as though he completely understood. She wasn't an idiot, she knew their behavior toward each other had changed. Over the past few years their friendship had reached a level of closeness that she had never experienced before. It went beyond trusting him, which she did completely. But there was something else. Sitting beside him, her hand enclosed in his, felt as natural as breathing. For the first time she considered what it would be like to erase the boundary they were so keen to maintain. As a spy, nothing could be worse than being involved with another spy. Someone always wound up dead.

For once, Clint's mind was not on Natasha. As he drove closer and closer to base, the path of destruction from yesterday became more pronounced. Buildings, cars, and bodies all piled together. Everywhere he looked he could see the effect of Loki's army. No amount of reassurance from those around him could convince Clint that this wasn't his fault in some small way. So much of Loki's plan was accomplished through him. As a spy, the end has to justify the means. Yes, they won and saved the world. But with each corpse he passed it became harder to remember. Last night he wanted to escape his nightmares, he wanted comfort and security. But now he looked forward to them. In a way, he deserved them. So many dead at his hands- a few bad dreams weren't punishment enough.

So when they arrived back at their housing assignment, Clint made sure to lock his door while Natasha was in her room changing. He thought she, of all people, would understand that he needed to suffer alone. Shutting off the lights, Clint forced himself to sleep on the bed where he had less of an advantage tactically. He wanted to be off balance, vulnerable, weak. For tonight, he'd let himself feel the guilt and blame that were too powerful to fight off.

Natasha heard the click of the lock as she walked down the hall to her room. It worried her that Clint wanted to be alone- nothing good ever came of it. He would isolate himself sometimes after a particularly difficult mission as if he deserved to be punished. For her, becoming too emotionally invested wasn't an issue, but for Clint it was a constant battle. He took things personally, especially if there was a loss of innocent life. Usually she allowed him to wallow in solitude for a while because it helped him cope. This time was different; she couldn't let him go down this road alone. His personal involvement was too twisted and complex for him to sort through. Instead, Natasha changed into something to sleep in, grabbed a hairpin, and silently stationed herself outside Clint's door.

It only took about an hour for the nightmares to start. Natasha heard his breathing change from deep and even to shallow and ragged. He didn't call out or say anything, but she could hear him thrashing and groaning as the dream gripped him harder. It took a moment for her to manipulate the lock on the door into opening, slip into the room, and close it behind her. She tried not to look too closely at Clint's face, the anguish written there was so heartbreaking. Instead, Natasha climbed into the bed beside him and pulled him close, calling his name and stroking his hair.

Clint's body returned to reality before his mind did. He felt someone close, too close, and immediately went into the defensive. When he realized that it was Nat he was grappling with, trying to disarm and incapacitate, he reeled back. Breathing hard, he leaned back on the headboard of the bed. Nat wasn't hurt or even surprised- she would have done the same thing in his situation. Attack first, question later.

"You know, Nat, I locked the door for a reason." Clint muttered, rubbing his hands down his face in an attempt to erase the images of his dream from replaying again.

Nat smiled, returning to his side. "I know. You locked the door so you could wallow in angst and all that. I gave you a few hours for the pity party. But you aren't going to get over this by isolating yourself and you know it. Besides, I can't get any sleep knowing you're in here dreaming about killing me."

Clint groaned, flopping down onto the pillows and burying his face. Natasha didn't seem to care how serious this was. The one person he truly cared for, dying at his hands, and she was treating it like a joke. It was one of the rare moments he wished they were on opposite sides of the world.

"Hey," Natasha tried to sound a little more sympathetic, resting her hand on his bare shoulder. "I know it's torture for you to have those dreams. What I'm saying is, don't make it any worse than it has to be. You don't deserve to relive that every night for the rest of your life. I won't let you."

He allowed her to turn him over, somehow feeling like an oversensitive teenage and yet a little better at the same time. She was right; allowing himself to sink into this cycle of self blame wasn't going to bring anyone back from the dead. He needed to accept the past and use it as a lesson for the future. Tomorrow he'd get the chance to help put the city back together. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Taking Natasha's hand, he pulled her against him and held her close. She rested her head against his chest, listening for the steady heartbeat she could fall asleep to. The last thing she heard before slipping into slumber was Clint's voice, whispering into her hair.

"Thank you."


	9. Chapter 9

Ch. 9

_I could get used to this,_ Natasha thought as she slowly woke from another dreamless sleep. The warmth radiating from Clint's body and the way his arm remained wrapped around her waist even in sleep made her feel as if they had done this for years. She wouldn't mind doing this for years. For a few minutes she allowed herself to imagine a life apart from the spy game; one that didn't involve moving from place to place, living mission to mission. In training, the Russian government made it incredibly clear that there was only one way to retire from being an assassin. At SHIELD, there was an end to the job that wasn't death, though she honestly hadn't considered it for herself. The Black Widow, living a quiet life with a white picket fence? It was laughable.

Except here she was, sharing a pillow with Clint like nothing could be more natural. If Natasha did choose a new life, she wanted him to be in it. She propped herself up on her elbow to get a better view of his face, so peaceful in sleep that it almost didn't seem like him. He wasn't strategizing or looking for a tactical advantage, cracking a joke or taking aim for a kill. He just was.

For the first time, she wanted to kiss him. She had always found him attractive, but in a distant way that didn't effect her behavior. Their flirtatious banter, the vulnerability after a mission- that was her way of showing affection. Physical intimacy didn't constitute a close relationship to her; at least it never had before. A kiss was just a hook to reel in a target. Sex was a tool to sell a cover identity. The idea of kissing Clint for the sheer pleasure it would afford was a completely new concept to Natasha, but she liked the way it sounded.

Her lips were only an inch from his when she stopped herself. It was a dangerous game she was playing, letting her imagination run wild. Bad enough that they were compromised and emotionally involved with each other. She shouldn't entertain the idea of opening another door; another way for her enemies to hurt her. Plus, that would make Tony right, which just wasn't acceptable. With a sigh she pulled back and forced herself out of the cocoon of warmth they had created and made her way into the bathroom to take a shower.

Once he was certain Nat was gone, Clint opened his eyes. He had never put so much effort into pretending he was asleep than in the past few minutes. His whole body felt like it was on fire; just sleeping in the same bed as his beautiful partner set his nerves on end. But to feel her hover over him, her breath sweeping over his lips, just out of reach? It was a good thing she was in the bathroom, because he wasn't going to be able to stand another second if she had stayed. It interested him that she came so close to kissing him, but decided against it. He was the rational thinker, denying what he so deeply desired for the sake of the greater good. Natasha wasn't like that- if she wanted it, she took it.

Perhaps Natasha would always be a mystery, but one thing Clint knew was that he needed to talk to her. The lines were blurring between them and he wanted to keep it that way. He had always wanted that with someone, but she was the first woman who fit into his life. She was the fire to his ice. A woman who could beat him in a fight and watch his back in any situation. Was there anything else he could hope for?

But today they had a mission. There would always be a mission. Clint didn't know if there was a reality in which he could have everything he wanted; it seemed like a stretch even in his own mind. He felt himself losing his nerve now that Nat's body was no longer pressed against his own. Pushing his face into a pillow he let out a groan; even trained assassins have girl trouble. After the mission, he promised himself, he would find the time to figure this out. One thing he knew for sure, though, was that after two nights spent in the same bed as Natasha, he'd never want to sleep without her again.

Dressing quickly in combat gear, Clint left the room to get in an hour of training before their brief with Fury. This was his routine whenever he had the opportunity to prepare for a mission. He loved spending some time pushing his body to the limit, feeling the rush of adrenaline and burn of muscles. He didn't bother practicing archery- there was no point. But gearing up for the physical toll of a mission was always worth it. Especially because at some point, Nat would show up and try to kick his ass.

Today it happened while he was practicing mixed martial arts on one of the many weighted dummies. That shift in the light, a faint smell of her hair; he dropped and rolled just as she spun to land a kick to his back. As usual, he was barely able to keep one step ahead of her. Obstacles in the room that he had to avoid, she used as hurdles to launch herself at him. It was only a matter of time before confrontation became unavoidable and he wanted it to be to his tactical advantage. Just out of reach, he rolled into a wrestling ring. Nothing to climb on, slip under, or dodge behind- this would definitely not be Natasha's location of choice.

Regardless, she wasn't about to back down from a sparring match. He had barely gotten a read on her when she was on him, kicking out his knees and attempting to lock her legs over his neck. He almost laughed; Nat loved that move because it always caught her enemies off guard. He used her uneven distribution of weight to spin her across the floor, where she crouched to spring again. He anticipated her flying kick and blocked her foot, landing a blow between her shoulder blades that lurched her into the ropes.

Clint felt smug for nearly a second before Nat came back with a vengeance. As he prepared to parry her offensive attack, she surprised him by flipping over his head and wrapping her arms and legs around him. As she put him in a choke hold he knew he was beat. This was the point in a real fight that he usually waited for Nat to shoot his enemy in the head. Instead, he tapped her forearm to signal his defeat. She eased up but remained on his back, resting her chin on his shoulder. Even without seeing her, Clint could tell she had that smug grin on her face.

"Good morning to you too," he said, making his way to the edge of the ring with her.

"Just had to be sure you were fit for duty, Agent Barton. I've got your back."

Clint shook his head, "I think you've made that incredibly clear, Agent Romanoff. Also, not your best joke ever."

Natasha laughed as she leaped lightly to the ground, not bothering to answer. She led the way to the weapons department, where their tools of choice were kept in working condition between missions. As Clint strapped bracers to his wrists and his quiver to his back, she loaded up on ammunition and holsters for the variety of guns she carried. Technically this was a recon mission with a minimal threat level, but both agents had been in enough sticky situations to know that they should be fully armed regardless of the anticipated danger level.

Fury met them in the same room where they had debriefed from the Loki mission. It didn't escape Natasha's eye that there was a newly patched hole in the wall, but when she looked to Clint with a raised eyebrow he studiously ignored her gaze, looking at Fury like there was nothing that could matter more than the file he was flipping through.

"Right. Agents, today is a bag and tag mission. Barton, you'll lead one team through the interior of the damage zone. I want you to personally assess each building for damages and follow your tracking device. Dr. Banner has designed these to specifically target the gamma signals of the alien tech. Anything you find, put a tracker on and my teams on the ground will do the clean up. Romanoff, you will take a second team along the outer rim of the damage zone. We've already had several foreign agents attempt to secure pieces of alien weaponry; it is imperative that nothing makes it into the hands of our enemies. Both Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark have volunteered to assist in today's mission-'

"I want Rogers!" Natasha and Clint called simultaneously.

Fury couldn't help but smile, "Agent Barton, you'll need Iron Man on your team to get a birds eye view of some of these buildings. Romanoff, Rogers is with you. I've asked him to leave the suit at home- the media is already in a frenzy over the Avengers. I don't need him flashing Red, White, and Blue at the cameras. Questions?"

"Just one, sir," Natasha said. "What is my protocol if I do find alien tech in someone's possession?"

"You take it back. I'd tell you the specific guidelines about how much force you're permitted to use, but I know you'll just ignore me anyway. Dismissed."

Fury turned and left the room, managing to hold back his chuckle until he was out of earshot. Sure, Romanoff and Barton were two of the biggest pains in his ass, but working with them kept him young. As long as they were under his command, he knew SHIELD's influence in the government would remain strong.

It had only been a few hours and Clint was ready to call it a day. Walking from one building to the next, following the signal of the alien technology, placing trackers on every last bit of crap from outer space- it was worse than taking a day off. The only break in the monotony was listening to Nat and her team recovering stolen pieces. Not ten minutes ago they all got a good laugh when Natasha had to try to negotiate with a self proclaimed UFO expert who was convinced that these were the aliens that had abducted him. To her credit, she didn't knock him out until he tried to run with the armor he had grabbed off the street.

"Hawkeye, do you copy?" Nat wasn't scheduled to check in for 20 more minutes. Clint knew she was either bored or had a problem.

"Copy. What's your status Black Widow?"

"I copy too. Not that anyone cares." Stark's communication privileges had been revoked nearly an hour earlier for pulling a prank that nearly created a total evacuation. He was feeling a little left out.

"Shut up, Stark," Natasha quickly replied. "Hawkeye, I'm about one super nerd away from testing out some of these weapons myself. We're spread a little thin at the moment, but I'm heading offshore to track down a signal coming from a ship in the harbor. If you have a few men to spare, send them to the Captain in Times Square. He's got his hands full with the Russians and I don't have an invite to that party."

Damn Russians. Being one of Natasha's primary infiltration sources, they had to be extremely careful that her face wasn't seen with the US government.

"Roger that Widow. Do you have any backup for your side trip? It could be dangerous. I can send Iron Man."

"That's a negative, you're not pawning him off on me that easily. There is no human life on the ship. In fact, it's dead in the water. I'll be there and back before Stark can work out a snide comeback. Widow out."

Clint sighed; she got to have all the fun. He'd even be happy to trade with Rogers and kick some Russian ass. In fact, since working with Natasha he got extra satisfaction from causing chaos in the Russian government as payback for all they put her through. Moving up the street to the source of the next signal, he caught a glimpse of Stark shooting off to another building. Despite his antics and constant chatter, he was dedicated. Clint and his team were the second wave- they moved through buildings that Tony had cleared for safety. He had nearly crushed twice already by unstable beams and debris. Without him on the team, they would have had many more precautions to take.

Clint was almost finished with the sweep of this building when Rogers' voice came over his com.

"Captain to Black Widow, do you copy?"

There was no reply. Rogers made a second attempt with nothing but silence on the other end. Nat had ignored her com before, but Clint had a bad feeling about this. If the ship was abandoned, there would be no reason for her to maintain radio silence.

"Does anyone have a read on Black Widow?" Clint tried to keep the urgency out of his voice. When he received several negatives from various agents, he instructed his team to continue without him and made his way out of the building. Stark was waiting for him at the entrance, already working with JARVIS to triangulate her tracking signal.

"I got nothing Hawkeye. I have her last known coordinates, but that was nearly 15 minutes ago. Both her tracker and her com are down. Can I offer you a ride?"

Clint nodded. He didn't like this one bit. Being dragged through the air by Iron Man wasn't his favorite way to get around, but he needed to get to that ship. He was stupid for not insisting she take backup. Anything could have been waiting for her; weapons, chemicals, hell, even robots. It didn't matter that there was no human life aboard, they both knew a hundred non-human things that could kill them. He needed a strategy, but his mind was becoming increasingly preoccupied by images of Nat, dead in every way he had seen in his dreams. Her com could be disabled or destroyed, but her agency tracker? Even when an agent died the tracker sent out a signal so the body could be found. Had she been blown up? Would there even be a body to find?

The ship came into view, dead in the water about half a mile from shore. There was no smoke or visible damage to the vessel, nothing to indicate danger upon approach. But Stark came to an abrupt stop about one hundred feet from the deck.

"Sorry Birdboy, but I think this is where I have to drop you off. JARVIS is detecting an electromagnetic field around the ship. My guess is that's why nothing electronic is sending out a signal. If I fly through, I think it'll shut down the suit, and I haven't added any floatation devices yet. Do you want to wait for backup?"

Knowing that he shouldn't make the same mistake as Nat, he hesitated. If their roles were reversed, he knew his partner wouldn't be able to wait a single minute before going to find him.

"No, drop me here. I'll swim in, locate Widow, and go up on deck. Once I'm in the water, go find the Captain, shut down the Russians, and get back here with him. If you don't see me on deck, don't send anyone in. After an hour, call Fury. He'll know what to do from there." Blow the ship out of the water is what he'll do, but Stark probably wouldn't take too kindly to his plan if he told him that. Instead, Iron Man gave him one final nod before lowering him into the icy water.

**Hey guys! Our internet has been out all week, which has given me all kinds of motivation to write. Not only do you get a long chapter, but I've already started the next one! Of course your reviews will determine exactly how much time I spend this week writing the next chapter. I'm thinking their first kiss will be at her funeral... unless I'm convinced otherwise... Bwa-ha-ha!**


	10. Chapter 10

Ch. 10

Swimming wasn't one of Clint's natural abilities. Sure he could do it, but with his quiver and bow on his back it wasn't exactly a graceful process. Even so, he made it to the abandoned ship in record time, still picturing the horror he was about to find. As he pulled himself over the rail and onto the deck, his training took over and left his mind blissfully blank. Scanning for potential threats, Clint drew his bow and slowly made his way along the edge of the ship. There were cargo boxes and equipment here and there, but nothing stood out as the cause of the electromagnetic field.

Once Clint finished sweeping the top deck, he approached the stairs that would lead him below. It wasn't a particularly large vessel, but it seemed to take ages to move from room to room. Still, the spy found no trace of alien technology or his partner, and his worries began to resurface. Only the cargo bay was left. If there was a trap, that would be the place for it; minimal escape options, dim lighting, and lots of open space. Knowing Nat, she busted through the door without pause, trying to retake the element of surprise. Since the thick metal door stood ajar, Clint decided that stealth was still his best bet. He slid through the opening, trying to take in as much as he could with his eyes before taking a single step into the room. But just like the deck above, there were piles of crates scattered around, thick cargo nets draped over them, making it a challenge to see anything further ahead.

Clint silently crept around the first mountain of crates, but it seemed useless to try and hide. Anyone waiting would be able to see without being seen- the tactical advantage he so desperately wanted. Taking a leaf out of Nat's strategy book, he took a deep breath and stepped out into the light, ready to release an arrow at a moment's notice.

"Clint?"

Natasha was incredibly surprised to see him. She had been studying the strange device in the cargo bay for nearly an hour and was about ready to blow the damn thing up and call it a day when her partner stepped out from behind some cargo.

"About time! It took me about 15 minutes to realize that I hadn't heard Stark make a joke and my com was disconnected. It has something to do with this machine, though I can't for the life of me figure out how to shut it off. I could use a hand."

When Clint continued to stand there, looking completely clueless, she began to get agitated.

"What? Listen, I wasn't going to swim back to shore just to report that I found something, then swim back here to stare at it some more. Since you're here, though, why don't you take a look for yourself?"

_She's alive._ Clint felt as though he couldn't catch his breath; Nat was standing right there. Talking. Moving around, looking pissed off. Not dead, not lost forever. She had never looked so beautiful.

He dropped his bow to the ground and reached her in seconds, his hand sliding though her hair as his lips met hers. Pushing his body forward he backed her up until she was pressed against the rough wood and fabric of the cargo piles. His kisses weren't gentle or soft, but they were incredible. Natasha reacted immediately, pushing back to deepen the kiss and vie for control, running her hands behind his neck as if she could somehow get physically closer to him. After a minute the intensity of his kisses lessened and he pulled back just far enough that he could see her eyes.

"I thought you were dead."

Natasha didn't need any other explanation. She knew too well the pain and desperation that came from thinking Clint was gone forever. It was barely a week ago that she heard Agent Coulson's voice telling her that her partner, her Clint, was compromised. Now here he was, breathing still a little ragged, his eyes bright and a little mischievous, looking for some sort of reply. But for once in her life, she was having trouble formulating a sentence.

"Well, I'm not."

Clint chuckled, "I can see that."

Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss to her forehead. Now that this barrier between them was gone, he wanted to take full advantage of it. Sliding his hands down her arms, he wove his fingers between hers and lifted her hands above her head, pinning them to the crate. Other than a slight growl, Natasha didn't protest. Considering she could have broken his wrists had she wanted, he took this as a good sign. That, and she had a look in her eye that told him he was playing with fire. Grinning like a fool, he brought his lips back to hers, barely brushing over them before moving to her neck.

"God, Clint, why didn't we do this years ago?" Natasha said, the growl still in her voice. Clint kept his lips close to her skin, just beneath her jaw line, when he answered.

"Nat, I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to do this. But I honestly thought you'd kill me."

That made her laugh; it was probably true. A few months ago she still didn't trust him. If he had rushed across a room at her she would have prepared to defend herself. Now the vulnerability of being pushed against a wall was exciting and erotic. She could only imagine how much better being pinned to the floor would be.

It seemed like Clint was thinking along the same lines, as his lips wandered lower to the zipper of her suit and he released one of her hands. He was just about to slide the zipper lower when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Well this is awkward."

**Ok, ok, I know it's really short. I wrote more, but decided this was the best place to end the chapter. Soooooo... did you like it for their first kiss? Who do you think found them in this compromising position? Who wants more kissing (I do! I do!)?**

**Have a happy 4th of July, for the Americans among us. Go shoot some fireworks into your neighbor's yard and eat lots of grilled food!  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks for all those awesome reviews! This is where the 'long version' begins. In the short version, it was going to be Tony walking in on them. So good guesses, but sadly not it's not him.**

Clint and Natasha jumped apart, immediately prepared for trouble. But there was no one to be seen. With his bow just a few feet away, Clint weighed his chances of reaching it before their mysterious third wheel made a move. The voice was male, distinctly Russian, and had a tone of superior coolness that could only mean one thing; he had them cornered.

"Natalia, Natalia, Natalia. You have grown soft on American soil. Have you forgotten all that we taught you?"

He didn't recognize the voice, but it was clear that Natasha did. Her entire body looked spring loaded, though he couldn't tell if she was planning to fight or flee. Running wasn't a strategy the Black Widow ever considered, so to see her looking like a deer in the headlights made Clint beyond nervous. He wanted his bow, needed the feeling of power that it brought him.

"Agent Barton, how rude of my protege to ignore introductions. I am... well, let us say that I am Dr. Z." As the man stepped into the light, Clint knew who he was facing. The creator and evil mastermind behind the Red Room. He was the man that hand selected Natasha as a child for his program, psychologically tortured her for years, trained her to be a Russian spy and assassin. The man Natasha never spoke of, but who frequently made appearances in her nightmares. Clint swore he'd send an arrow through his eye before their conversation was over.

"Ah, your face betrays you Agent. Perhaps I was too limited in my introductions. I have brought a few of my closest friends to greet Natalia as well." With a snap of his fingers, Clint was lit up by at least a dozen red dots. Snipers. Probably hidden behind or in the crates. In his haste to find Natasha, he was careless. Now he had no chance of getting his bow and make this a fair fight.

"But do not worry, Agent Barton. I am not here to hurt anyone. This was a test, you see. Natalia knows how I enjoy a good test. I have known for some time that my property was working with SHIELD. It was not easy to track her down, but we have people everywhere. One of them, may he rest in peace, spotted her with the Avengers saving the city. Doing good for the multitudes of American swine. He was able to communicate your location before being killed. But how to meet with you? Your directer would be unlikely to set up a meeting, no?"

With each word, Clint could feel Natasha inching closer to him, closing the gap between their bodies. At first he thought she may have a plan, known a weakness in their enemy that he didn't. But then he saw that she was shaking. And not with rage, as he had seen on a few occasions, but with fear. She pressed into his side, her hands grasping his forearm like a child in the dark, seeking comfort. In the presence of this man, Natasha was a child. All the horrors that she had meticulously covered up and pushed away were exposed, raw, and bleeding with Dr. Z standing in front of her. That only made Clint more enraged; no one should have that much power over another person, much less over Natasha.

"Listen, Z, it's not that your story doesn't sound interesting, but I've learned the hard way how long winded you Russian sociopaths can be. How about you skip the part where you're so clever and tricked the spies and just tell me what you want? That way I can tell you to go screw yourself and we can all go back to our lives. Except yours will be in a maximum security facility. Underground. Where there's a good chance we won't even realize you've died until the smell gets bad enough."

Dr. Z laughed, looking absolutely delighted that Clint was playing hard to get. The sound made Natasha wince as if she'd been slapped and her breathing became more erratic. This wasn't good, not at all. He needed to get her out as soon as possible, and they weren't even close to their hour mark when he could expect Tony to be hovering nearby.

"Ah, Agent Barton, you make me chuckle. Skip the best part? Your culture has no appreciation for good stories. This little device, it is making its debut today! It's quite a beauty, sending out a signal that will block all communications, shut down all technology within it's radius. I have spent years creating it. My men use weaponry that work at a different frequency, unobstructed by the electromagnetic wave. All I needed was a little piece of the alien invader's machinery, easy enough to steal, and I knew someone would come. I had hoped it would be my Natalia, always one to investigate alone, always curious. If not, I would lure her in eventually. Like a spider in a web, right Natalia?

But you are quite right, Agent Barton. We are on a tight schedule today; I would rather not linger until your Avengers discover that something is amiss. I have enjoyed our conversation, you are quite an intriguing man. Perhaps that is what Natalia is attracted to. I will have to find out later. Natalia, come along. You have quite a bit of, what should we call it? Reprogramming to be done? We must get you back to your old self."

Clint tensed, he still didn't have a plan of attack. He couldn't let them take her, but it was suicide to make a move. At least if he was killed he finally kissed her. It's the little things.

"Sorry, Doc, but she isn't going anywhere. Thanks for asking, though."

"If I were asking, Agent, I would not have brought snipers. Natalia will come with me, whether she does it willingly or over your dead body is no matter to me. In fact, I quite like the idea of killing you, as that will give her less to miss from this little rebellion of hers."

"Enough."

Clint turned to look at Natasha. She spoke in a clear, strong voice and looked more like his Nat; not cowering or afraid, simply cool and calculated.

"I will go with you, Doctor. However, Agent Barton is not to be harmed. Do you agree?"

A smile spread across Dr. Z's face, "I do."

"Good," Natasha replied. "I would like a moment to say goodbye."

Dr. Z nodded and stepped back a few paces, waving over 3 men and whispering to them in Russian. Clint was dazed; he was hoping she had a plan. Instead, she was giving up, something he never thought he'd hear her do. She turned him around so that his body was between her and the group of men. Reaching up, she caressed his face and pulled him down for a soft kiss. Try as he might, Clint couldn't keep tears from coming to his eyes.

"Nat, there has to be a way. We've made it out of situations like this before- I have to try. Please, Nat, we have to try..."

"No. Clint, I know him. We can't fight our way out of this one, and I can't risk losing you. No one else will work as hard to get me back as you." He could see the fear back in her eyes, that desperation to hear that everything was going to be okay. She was right, of course. He would get her back, no matter what the cost.

"Listen to me, Nat. You're everything. There is nothing for me in this world without you, do you understand? You're the Gretel to my Hansel. Remember that if things get bad. I will find you."

She was momentarily confused. Hansel and Gretel? If there was one thing they weren't, it was brother and sister. Then she understood; he was telling her to leave him a trail of breadcrumbs to follow. The possibility of a plan gave her the slightest bit of hope, so that when she pulled him to her for another kiss, some of her fire was back. This wasn't a goodbye kiss, it was a promise. _Just wait until the next one_. Based on the groan of pleasure he couldn't contain, Clint seemed to get her message load and clear. They pulled apart reluctantly, their eyes locked in silent communication.

_I want you._

_I need you._

_Don't give up._

_Stay strong._

Natasha turned and walked to her escort of Russian thugs, head held high and the telltale swagger in her hips. Just before walking out of sight, she turned to look at Clint one more time, a completely new message in her eyes.

_I love you._

It took everything Clint had not to run after her. For once in his life he had a fairytale moment, an experience that made everything else worthwhile. And it was walking away in the hands of his enemies. It was a minute before he realized that the red dots were no longer trained on him. Only Dr. Z remained, the last of his minions carrying out the mysterious machine he so adored. This was Clint's chance.

"Again, Agent Barton, your face gives you away. Of course you would like to kill me. This is the time to try, I suppose. I'm taking away a woman you've fallen in love with. Such a silly emotion. I suppose you plan to hunt me down and kill me for this?"

Clint nodded his head, trying to communicate the utter hatred he felt for this man through his piercing gaze.

"Yes, that is only natural," Dr. Z said as he pulled out a pistol and fired. As Clint dropped to the ground in front of him, the doctor let out another laugh. Walking over, he stood above the spy, looking down with curiosity.

"This should make it a bit more challenging. Oh, and Agent Burton? She is mine. Tonight, when she shares my bed, I will remind her of that."

As the door to the cargo bay creaked shut, the only sound that remained was Clint's ragged breathing as he tried desperately to slow the flow of blood from his abdomen.

**Woah. Did I just shoot Clint? My bad. I'll work on that for next time... **


	12. Chapter 12

**Okay, okay, I apologize for the insanity of last chapter. I promise I will not shoot poor Clint again. At least not in this chapter...**

Ch. 12

"Dammit," Clint grunted.

This would definitely slow him down; although the bullet went through and through so he didn't have to worry about any major internal damage, the blood loss was becoming an issue. He already felt dizzy, it was getting harder to focus, and he couldn't call for help-

"Oh!" It suddenly occurred to the spy that Dr. Z's mystery machine left the ship when Natasha did. Natasha- he had to focus if he wanted to save her. Using one hand to press against his wound, Clint sent up a prayer as he rebooted his com.

"Stark?"

"Hawkeye? Hey! That was fast- the Captain and I are just tying up a few loose ends... in the form of a bunch of angry Russians... then I'll head over and pick you up. Was Black Widow alright? Is she pissed?"

"Tony, they took her. I'm hit- I need you right now."

Even to his own ears, Clint sounded weak. Passing out wasn't an option. Who knew how long they'd keep him drugged to recover and by then any clues left by Natasha would be gone. He didn't get a reply from Stark, but Rogers radioed for any nearby teams to get to his coordinates.

He felt helpless. Getting shot wasn't anything new for Clint, but he needed strength to take down Dr. Z. His parting words, the implication that he could have Natasha in that way- he had to stop him. Nothing he had done in his entire life mattered more. The rage helped keep his mind clear, made it easier to stay conscious. The Russians were here before Natasha. They had to carry that machine off the ship. They had to have come in a submarine; the city was crawling with American government, there was no other way to come and go undetected. It wasn't much, but at least he had something to work with.

"Hawkeye, do you copy?" It was Rogers. Or maybe Stark. Why wouldn't he copy? The com was literally inside his ear. Sometimes military protocol was so pointless. _Just say what you have to say and I'll hear it. Unless I'm dead. Either way, asking if I copy is a waste of time._

"Hawkeye! Answer me!"

_Oh, right..._ "Roger Rogers." He thought that was pretty funny, but not even Tony laughed. Tough crowd. He'd have to work on his jokes.

"We're approaching the ship- where are you?"

_I'm bleeding on the floor. Right next to where I kissed her. I shouldn't have done that. Lost the tactical advantage. Now she's gone._

"Cargo bay." The room was spinning. Another bad sign. He fought to stay awake, picturing that look Natasha gave him as she left. She would never let a little bullet wound slow her down if he was the one captured. Hell, he remembered one mission she was captured and the Italian idiot strapped a bomb to her, thinking that would make her all terrified and helpless. She kicked that guy's ass into next week, bomb still on her back, and gave him an earful for making her do all the work while he disarmed the thing.

Once Tony and Steve hit the deck they only needed a minute to find Clint laying in a pool of blood on the floor. Steve reached the archer first, assessing his vitals and blood loss. He wasn't a medic by a long shot, but he knew enough to tell that Clint would be fine if they could stop the bleeding. The man was pale, a sheen of sweat over his face, muttering under his breath.

"Stay with me, Barton. We'll get you to a hospital. Who took Agent Romanoff?"

Clint felt like he had cotton in his mouth. It took him a few tries before he could get any sound out.

"Russians. No hospital- Stark? Can you?" He couldn't get the rest out, but the look of shock on Tony's face told him the genius understood.

"Are you sure Clint? I can fly you to a hospital in 5 minutes flat. You need a blood transfusion at least, and I can tell you I don't have _that _in my suit."

Clint just nodded. He needed a quick patch up. Rogers looked completely lost until Tony knelt beside Clint and pulled back his vest and shirt, revealing the bleeding hole, while adjusting the laser setting on his wrist.

"No- Clint, you're seriously going to let him cauterize that wound? What if he misses?"

"Wow, Cap," Stark replied, "no pressure or anything."

"Do it. Nat's running out of time." Clint turned his head to the side and set his jaw. This wasn't going to feel good.

Rogers held his shoulders down with enough pressure that he couldn't shift accidentally while Stark began the slow process of burning the outer edge of Clint's bullet wound. Something between a scream and a groan escaped Clint's closed mouth as his body reacted to the intense burning. Luckily, Roger's superhuman strength made it impossible to get up and run or roll out of the way. When Stark was satisfied that the entrance wound was closed they turned the archer onto his side to repeat the procedure with the exit wound.

If Clint thought he would pass out before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. His body had been stressed to the max and was slowly shutting down as a recovery tactic. Black shadows were creeping into the edges of his vision and he found it impossible to lift his head. Try as he might, he wasn't going to be able to launch a rescue mission in his condition. Instead, he mustered his remaining strength to lift a hand to his ear, pressing the com and hoping that he'd get lucky.

"Fury, it's Hawkeye. I need the quinjet, Dr. Banner, and the best pilot you have. No questions. Oh, and a clean shirt. Copy?"

If Fury answered, Clint didn't hear it. Instead he slipped into emptiness as his mind went blank.

Deep beneath the surface of the water, Natasha hated how familiar the sounds of the submarine were. It was almost soothing, except that her gag reflex was in overdrive. She needed to think like Clint, formulate a strategy to convince Dr. Z she was playing along. But he knew her entire playbook; all her personas and mind games were invented by him in the first place. She needed a new approach.

When the doctor came to sit by her, she noticed a few differences in his appearance. The wrinkles where his jacket had been pulled back. The smell of gunpowder. A fleck of blood on his trousers. That twisted smile he reserved for the most heinous moments. Even before the words left his mouth, she knew.

"I shot him, Natalia. You will thank me, one day, for eliminating this temptation. Now you can focus on your work once more. Are you angry with me?"

Natasha turned her head away, knowing that her eyes would give away too much. He never told the whole truth, that she knew. The evidence that he shot Clint was right in front of her, but he didn't say killed. Being raised by the genius sociopath next to her did have its advantages. Clint was alive, but delayed. Did it make her angry? Yes. But it also gave her hope.

"Thank you for letting me say goodbye, Doctor." Natasha whispered, trying to infuse her voice with grief. So the bastard wanted to play mind games? Between Fury, Clint, and Stark she had a few new tricks up her sleeve.

"You are welcome. I have nothing but you're best interests at heart Милая моя. I suggest you rest, we have a long journey ahead of us."

Natasha nodded, walking to the bunks in the rear of the sub. A long journey- hopefully long enough that Clint could catch up to her. Bullet wound or not, she was sure he was fighting with everything he had.

**See? Everyone is alive and well, not to worry! Fair warning, I'm busy this week (sadly, I have a job other than writing this story) so the next update may take longer. Your reviews do motivate me to write faster though! Except for the ones that just tell me to update sooner and hurry up. Seriously? Not helpful. But the other ones I love!**


	13. Chapter 13

Ch. 13

Natasha had no intention of sleeping. Her nightmares were bad enough when their star performer wasn't right down the hall. However, she had spent many years learning exactly how to feign sleep so that even the Doctor didn't know she was awake. He loved to watch people sleep- it was among his creepiest traits. Something about seeing a REM cycle in action, he said, told a lot about a person's psyche. When she was young, before she could fake it well enough, he would give her drugs to ensure that she would sleep through the night.

As always, her body tensed as her mind got too close to those memories. She had to be careful, especially now, to keep the past out of her thoughts. Controlled emotion was crucial to tricking Dr. Z. At least while they traveled by submarine, he would be too busy to work with her. Once they arrived at a training base, however, Natasha knew her life would enter that hell she worked so hard to escape.

In order to stay calm, Natasha ran through tactics again. Normally this was her least favorite part of a mission; sitting around planning and re-planning, looking at every detail from every angle. Clint often sent her away during this phase of a mission because she was more of a distraction than an asset. This time, Natasha had a lot more invested in the success of the mission. Knowing Dr. Z, he would not travel directly to a training center. Instead, they would stop somewhere completely neutral in order to change mode of transportation, identity, and direction. He loved to double back and take his time getting places so there was no predictable path to follow.

This was her opening. A public place, the chaos of travel- she would have to send Clint a clue somehow. Yet nothing was coming to mind. They would be in a different country, so how would Clint even know a breadcrumb had been left? The more Natasha thought about it, the more frustrated she became. Clint wouldn't know where to look and even if he did happen upon her message, it would give no indication of where they were heading next. She knew there had to be a way to get the Avenger's attention quickly without alerting Dr. Z to her plan.

Suddenly a harsh beeping sounded throughout the submarine. They were resurfacing. Natasha jumped off her bunk; she had no plan and no weapons. The only thing she could find in the room at all was a marker on a side table. Desperately wishing she knew what to do, Natasha tucked it into her boot.

"Oh yeah, this'll be great," she muttered under her breath as she made her way to the front of the sub.

Normally people regain consciousness slowly, as if emerging from a deep sleep. Clint's mind, however, came screaming to the surface of awareness as if someone had yelled 'fire.' He fought to get up and push past the hands holding him down, not knowing where he was or who he was with. Only Natasha mattered and he had to get to her. After a moment, Clint realized that he was still on the ship where he had been shot, and it was Rogers holding him down. That explained why he wasn't going anywhere.

"Clint, calm down. You need to stay still, okay? Fury gave me permission to knock you out if you don't listen."

Fury. Well at least his communication got through. Clint settled back on the deck, trying to take in as much as possible without moving too much. There were SHIELD agents moving around, most likely gathering evidence. He could hear the hum of the new Quinjet, the voice of Agent Hill shouting orders, and Tony filling Dr. Banner in on the situation. It was a start.

The pain of his burns was still sharp, barely tolerable. That was another good sign. Pain meds would only slow him down and dull his mind- Fury must have made sure they didn't give him any. Soon Tony and Bruce were also standing over him, making Clint want to get moving more than ever.

"Listen, guys, I appreciate the help. But we have a small window here and it's closing fast. I can't do a whole lot laying around tanning. Just tell Fury that I take full responsibility if I kill myself in the process, okay?"

"You can tell me yourself," Fury said as he crossed the deck to where the Avengers were gathered. Reaching down, he took Clint's hand and pulled the agent to his feet. The news that Barton had been shot, so close to the death of Agent Coulson, had made Fury ready for action. He knew that getting Natasha back was imperative. Not only would losing her be a huge detriment to SHIELD, but more importantly there was no Hawkeye without the Black Widow. Clint was too close to his partner to go on without her, let alone fight against her.

Clint nodded his thanks to his supervisor. Fury was one of the few men he had no trouble working under. Sure, he was a hard ass most of the time, but he always knew more than he let on and was willing to let his agents make their own decisions. No one else would have tolerated the antics that Clint and Natasha were known for, but Fury knew that the job would be done in the end.

"So what do we know?" Fury asked.

Everyone looked to Clint. They were all there on his word- no one else had seen a thing.

"Sir, when Agent Romanoff lost communication, I came to her last known location to find her. There was a machine on board this ship that essentially blocked technology. We were attempting to turn off the machine, but were ambushed. A team of Russian agents, led by Dr. Z. He invented the machine, produced weaponry that could work inside it's field- we were screwed from the start. He wanted Romanoff back- she agreed to go quietly to save me. They took her and the machine, then Dr. Z shot me for good measure. I know they took a sub, but other than that I have nothing to go on until Nat sends a signal."

Clint waited for Fury to respond. They didn't have a damn thing. Dr. Z was a paranoid genius with no conscience- there was a reason he had never been captured before. The man knew how to cover his tracks. Not even Natasha could tell them where the training bases were that she was raised in, because the Doctor kept everyone in the dark. After what seemed like an eternity, Fury finally nodded.

"Good. We can't track the machine while it's beneath the surface of the water, but eventually that sub will come up for air. Dr. Banner, you have the readings that Mr. Stark's suit recorded earlier?"

"I do," Bruce replied.

"Well that's where we'll start. Isolate the gamma signal and see how unique it is. If we're lucky, we'll know which part of the world they're in and we can take it from there. Agent Barton and Captain Rogers, you'll join me in the Quinjet. If Agent Romanoff is going to give us some sort of sign, we'll need to monitor communications carefully from here on out. Let's get to work!"

As they began to separate, Clint put a hand on Tony's shoulder to stop him. The jokester, pain in the ass, cartoon-loving playboy just gave him his only hope. There really weren't words to tell him what that meant, but Clint needed Tony to know how much he appreciated having him on the team. Before he could think of the words, Tony spoke for him.

"You can thank me when we have her back, Barton."

"Natalia, I'm sure I do not need to tell you how to act in public. Yet after all your time with the Americans, perhaps your manners need brushing up. I have sent three of my men ahead. They will be at various points in the train station. If they do not see us reach each checkpoint in time, they will kill a child. As long as you are on your best behavior, no one will be hurt. Do you understand?"

Natasha nodded. She understood all too well. She had been one of those agents on many occasions; sitting in a public place, fully prepared to take an innocent life if the plan didn't stick to schedule. That meant no delays, no side trips, no diversions. A trip to the bathroom was about all she could afford in terms of time. But she couldn't exactly send Clint a message by flushing it down the toilet.

By the time they were docked and ready to leave, Natasha had changed into civilian clothing and tucked her hair into a hat. She felt vulnerable and silly in the sun dress and sandals- just another mind game by Dr. Z. In this outfit she would have a hard time running or fighting. She did manage to transfer the marker from her boot to her hat, where it was tucked in her ponytail.

Like on any mission, Natasha had heightened sensory awareness as she followed her fellow Russians into the train station. The crowded space, full of noises and movement, made her fingers itch for the cool assurance of a gun. They were moving at a fast pace, going directly through the crowd. She was sure they already had their tickets purchased for the train, so there was no subtle way to determine their destination.

_Leave a breadcrumb... give him a trail to follow._ The only thing Natasha could think to do was to look up. As they moved she looked directly into each and every security camera she could find. If Clint knew where to look, he'd be able to spot her in the crowd. Based on the signs and travel times, Natasha was sure they were in Canada. But how would SHIELD know to look here?

Suddenly, finally, Natasha had an idea. It wasn't a good idea- hell, it was downright stupid. But it would probably get enough attention that her partner would recognize her signature all over it. There was nothing she liked better than having a mission, even if it was a reckless one. Actually, she liked that kind the best.

"Doctor?" Natasha kept her voice soft as she walked alongside her creator. Even this man could be played in some ways. He loved to think of Natasha as a young girl, as she was when she first entered the Black Widow program. She realized over the years that exuding a childlike innocence often got her favors that Dr. Z would not have normally allowed. And right now she needed all the help she could get. He didn't change his pace, but nodded that he was listening.

"Doctor, I don't want you to think I'm causing trouble, but would it be horribly inconvenient if I went to the bathroom before we board the train? I won't take long at all, I promise."

Hook, line, and sinker. She hated that saying, but Clint always said it in her ear when she charmed her mark, and it was his voice she heard now. What she wouldn't give to be able to talk to him now, just for a moment, to know they were on the same page. Dr. Z smiled at her in that grandfatherly way that made Natasha's skin crawl before he answered.

"Of course, Natalia. You are not a prisoner here- I just want you to be happy."

Not a prisoner. Of course not, she only had four Russian agents escort her to the ladies room with a promise that they would start shooting if she wasn't out in five minutes. Natasha couldn't stop a smile from coming to her lips. Five minutes was more than enough time to write a carefully worded note on a paper towel and tuck it into the supply closet where the wording could easily be seen. According to the chart on the door, the bathroom would be cleaned again in 45 minutes. That was just enough time for them to leave the station, but not such a large window that Clint couldn't catch up. Now she just had to hope he wasn't so badly injured that he was lying on a hospital bed instead of monitoring communications.

"Here goes everything."

**Oh hey guys! As usual, life has rudely gotten in the way of writing. I hate how that happens. My line of work has a tendency to follow you home and pant in your face when you're on the computer instead of throwing a ball... if you catch my drift. Not exactly a 9-5 kind of deal. **

**Aaaaanyways- how are you liking the story? too slow? Things will get much more exciting in the next chapter, just you wait!  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**Ch. 14**

"Hey, buddy? You should go take a break. I can fill in for a few hours and let you know if anything comes up," Tony said halfheartedly as he leaned against the door frame of the communication room.

Clint's reply was nothing more than a grunt as the assassin continued to watch three television stations at once. Banner had only been able to narrow down Natasha's location to the Northern Hemisphere. Helpful, but it left a lot of ground for them to cover. After nearly 8 hours they were still looking for that breadcrumb that may not even exist. Steve, Fury, Tony, and Bruce had all been there in shifts throughout the night to listen to police frequencies, watch the news, and monitor social media outlets for clues. Clint was the only one who hadn't so much as taken a bathroom break, let alone get his wound cleaned and try to sleep. Tony knew that all encompassing obsession, the drive to do whatever it took to keep someone safe. It was how he felt any time Pepper was in danger.

There was no point in trying to push his friend to stop the search, so Tony rolled up a chair and started typing away at the nearest computer. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em and all that. Of course, just because Clint felt all sullen and brooding didn't mean Tony was going to respect the silence.

"So, Hawke, how long have you loved her?"

That got Clint to glance away from those damn screens. The archer looked exhausted, angry, surprised, and so incredibly heartbroken. Another thing Tony could link to Pepper. The idea of losing what was most precious to him- that isn't the kind of pain you can keep off your face, trained spy or not.

"I... I can't talk about it, Tony. I just need to find her, okay?" Tony could see the slight shimmer in his eyes as Barton turned back to the screen in front of him.

"Sure, Clint. It's just, I'd think in your line of work there are a lot of life or death situations. It seems like you're always living on borrowed time, you know? It would be a shame to waste some of that time playing 'will we, won't we' when I can guarantee you there isn't a single person in the world more right for you than her. And Lord knows you're the only one who stands a chance of making her happy."

Clint cracked a smile as he rubbed his hands over his face. Tony really was something else; the guy could read people, he'd give him that. Other than Natasha, and maybe Coulson, Clint wasn't used to the idea of friends. Apparently he'd have to adjust, because Stark didn't seem to be going anywhere.

"I kissed her."

Tony sputtered as he gulped hot coffee in surprise. He wasn't easy to catch off guard, but he had certainly not expected that. Immediately a million snide comments or slightly inappropriate questions rose to his lips. It took a good measure of self control and the pain of a burned tongue to stop him; Clint obviously needed to get this off his chest.

Clint sighed, "On the ship. I was sure she was dead and when I saw her I just... I couldn't stop myself I guess. That's how Dr. Z got the jump on us- I didn't have my bow. I wasn't paying attention. I love her and it's gotten her in danger."

Tony wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't the serious conversation type- that was Rogers' job all the way. But Rogers would agree that it was too dangerous to fall in love; he had felt the pain of that loss first hand. To Tony, life wasn't worth living if you spent the whole time trying to stop change. Change happened no matter what, for good or bad. After a minute of silent thought, Tony set down his mug and tried to look like he knew what the hell he was talking about.

"Listen, you can beat yourself up all you want, but at the end of the day you're still human. We aren't robots- we have feelings that are outside of our control. Even if you hadn't let your guard down, they still would have taken her. The difference is they probably would have killed you first and then we'd never get Natasha back. So before you decide to swear off love forever and be a super assassin nun, try to remember you're not the only one in this. You weren't around Nat when you were with Loki. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't because you guys are such good pals. We get one life here, my friend, and it isn't meant to be lived alone. Now go take a break for 5 minutes before I kiss you myself, okay?"

Clint nodded and got up. He was a little blown away by Tony's speech and needed a minute to process what had been said. Besides, he had to pee like a son of a bitch. Once his bladder was empty and his coffee cup was full, he returned to the communication center to see Tony and Steve laughing their heads off. The warm brotherly feelings he had toward Tony a minute ago disappeared; they were supposed to be on task and he couldn't take his eyes off them for a minute without something distracting them.

"Guys, we're supposed to be looking for Nat, not watching cartoons. What's up?" Clint asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the TV screen they were focused on.

"Clint! Guess what!" Tony managed between chuckles. "Not only am I a sexy superhero, but I'm also a mad bomber!"

"What?"

"Check it out! Iron Man has threatened to blow up a train station- I left a note and everything! Because I haven't been spending all of my free time rebuilding the city or anything. They evacuated the whole place just because some punk thought they'd have a good laugh at my expense. I approve completely, of course, but you know the PR crew is going to be a wreck over my public image."

"Move." Clint sat down and rapidly read through the news report Tony had pulled up with the video. A note left in a cleaning closet. Iron Man setting a bomb. The women's bathroom?

"It's Nat. This is the breadcrumb. Steve- I need to see this note. Get Fury over here immediately and prep the team to go within 30 minutes. I want all the security footage from that train station for the past 24 hours and any large party ticket purchases. Looks like we're heading to Canada."

As usual, Natasha was having trouble sitting still. Dr. Z insisted on traveling in style, she gave him that. Their section of the train was broken into several sleeping compartments, a dining area, recreation room, and sitting room. She had her own bedroom with an attached bathroom in the middle of the car with the good doctor right across the hall. There were armed men in each public area, at every door, and beneath each roof hatch. Apparently they were expecting her to try and escape.

She once again walked the length of the car, taking note of which guards were most experienced, which ones gave her that look she so often received from strange men, and which were not to be trifled with. Dr. Z seemed to pair each top agent with a vulnerable one- he certainly knew how to keep the odds working in his favor. She wasn't going to get out of here without help.

"Natalia, you make me dizzy with all this back and forth. Come, sit a moment with me. I'd like to discuss your future before we arrive at our destination." She didn't like the sound of that, but took a seat in a leather chair next to Dr. Z.

"You may not be aware, but you are in a unique situation. Never have we allowed an agent to live once they left the program. But you are special- you know this. Killing you would be such a waste." He took a sip from his tumbler of vodka before continuing.

"Yet to go unpunished would not do, not at all. The other girls must know we do not take this treachery lightly. I have spent many days considering the best course of action. Physical punishment means nothing, of course, to a trained Black Widow. Your punishment will be of the mind. I am telling you this so that you may prepare yourself; Agent Barton will no longer be in your memory. He will be another name, another target. I know you will be angry with me, but it must be done. We will arrive in two days- I suggest you take that time to come to terms with this new reality. The reprogramming will be easier if you are willing to accept it, if you recall."

As he spoke, Natasha ran through the ways she could kill him. There were only a few possibilities that would be successful before the guards got to her. It would be worth it, but then she'd be dead. And if Clint came for her, he'd be dead too. Reprogramming. She had survived it once, when she was young, but children are easier to mold. Forget Clint? His eyes, those hands, the way he kissed her like no one ever had? She wasn't giving that memory up without a fight. Silently she rose from her seat and went to her sleeping compartment. She'd bring down this organization if it was the last thing she ever did.

"I don't see a way to do this without getting someone killed," Steve said for the third time. The team was on the move and would catch up to Natasha's train in less than an hour. The problem was, no one knew what to do once they arrived. Storming the train would result in too many casualties. Sneaking Nat out was too risky. They had talked themselves in circles for nearly an hour and Clint was slowly losing his cool.

"Run through the details one more time," Agent Hill requested. With Fury still in New York, she was technically in charge. In charge of a bunch of superheroes and one very agitated spy. It was not her favorite job ever, she had to admit. But she knew that Agent Barton would be taking action when they arrived whether or not they had a plan, so she tried to keep the group focused on the facts.

Tony sighed, "She's on the westbound luxury train. It only makes a single stop en route to Vancouver. Their car is in the middle of the train. Also, not sure if this was part of Dr. Z's plan, but the car directly behind them is full of students on a trip across the country. Convenient targets if the Russians get an itchy trigger finger. Basically, we're screwed."

Clint tried to concentrate. He had already punched the wall once, which Agent Hill did not approve of. He was Hawkeye- if there was a strategy here, he should be the one to see it. Train jobs were nothing new to him- he grew up on one. Even a luxury train would have a weakness. A way in. All he had to do was get a few choice weapons in Natasha's hands and they could take care of the guards. The question was, could they do it without any civilian casualties?

"I think I have a way," Clint said, immediately getting the attention of every person within earshot. "It isn't going to be easy, but I'm going to jump the train. While the train is stopped, the Russians will be on full alert. To breach then would be suicide, but once the train is moving again they'll let down their guard. I'll catch the train when it stops but stay outside until it's picked up speed. Tony, I'll need you to figure out exactly which room is Nat's. I'd hate to show up in the wrong window."

He was bombarded by protests from all sides. Most of them claiming he wasn't strong enough. It was too dangerous. They should work as a team. Clint slammed his hands on the table top as he stood.

"Enough! There is no other plan that even stands a chance. I need to get in there and get Nat's take on the situation. Only she can really know the best way to take these guys down."

"Agent Barton," Steve said, looking puzzled, "how will you get into her room specifically? Let alone while the train is in motion?"

"That's the easy part. I grew up in the circus, so climbing around on a moving train really isn't a challenge. As for getting in, fun fact for you. All trains, especially the more modern ones, have an exterior latch on each window. That way if there is a crash, rescuers can get to anyone trapped inside. I'm telling you, this is going to work."

**Anyone here love Firefly? Because I can't think about trains without thinking about Firefly. Aaaaanyway- this is the last slow chapter! Wahoo! I'm so excited to get my little assassins back in the same room together! **


	15. Chapter 15

_Patience. Just have some patience. God damn patience._ Natasha mentally repeated to herself. Again. She was sitting in an overstuffed arm chair pretending to read a book while armed men pressed around her. Dr. Z had summoned her 15 minutes before the train was to make its scheduled stop. He made it clear that any remotely suspicious behavior would result in deadly consequences for both her and the teenagers in the next train car.

As the train slowly began to regain speed the car was given a thorough sweep before the men were ordered back to their posts. Natasha made herself a strong drink at the bar, enjoying the burn in her throat as she swallowed the clear liquid. She'd be lying to herself if she said she wasn't a little disappointed. That was really the best window for an escape and she was leaving it behind. It was possible that her clue had gone unnoticed, that there was no one on her trail at all. Shame, really, since she thought it was a pretty clever message.

There was still time, Natasha knew. From the train there would be one more leg of the journey, usually a black flight to the training center. The problem was, she would be drugged for that portion of the trip, so any great escape maneuvers would have to happen prior to that. Otherwise she'd wake up in some room, strapped to a chair with white sterile walls blinding her from all sides. She'd have to feel the icy cold of a chemical compound pumping through her veins as reality was taken from her. She either needed to find a way out or get herself killed, because there was no way in hell she was going through reprogramming.

Taking another shot of- what was she drinking? Rum? Natasha made her way back to her sleeping quarters. She had all night and half of the next day to figure out what she would do- right now she needed a hot shower and a few hours of sleep to clear her head. Her two armed guards let her pass into the room , shutting the door behind her with a definitive click. She decided not to push her luck by locking the door behind her.

"Shower now or later? Hmmm..." Natasha mused aloud, realizing that alcohol on an empty stomach was not a wise choice. The sound of the shower turning on in the bathroom wiped all haziness from her brain, replacing it with cold focus. She scanned the room for any changes, but found none. She tried to remember the last time she saw Dr. Z- hadn't he been checking on his machine? But after that, where had he gone? Panic was slowly rising in her throat when a new sound reached her ears from the bathroom. A whistle, three soft notes just loud enough to be heard over the water. The notes she had heard a hundred times before- they could only mean one thing.

_Clint_.

Natasha crossed the room in two silent steps, shutting the door behind her as she entered the bathroom. There he was, out of breath and holding his side in discomfort. She barely saw the smile spread across his face as she threw her arms around his neck. When he grunted in pain, she brought her lips to his ear playfully.

"Man up, Agent Barton."

Clint wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. His wound was already in rough shape from climbing around on a moving train, so a little more damage wouldn't make much difference. In fact, the feeling of Natasha's body against his was a nice distraction from the pain. He buried his face against her neck, trying to replace his guilt over letting her go with relief for her safety. He was just glad his com had "accidentally" turned off when he jumped the train, because he didn't enjoy the thought of Tony and the rest of the team overhearing this conversation.

"I'm so sorry Nat," Clint murmured into her skin. "Just tell me you're okay."

Natasha pulled back, surprised at the emotion in Clint's voice. Sure, she wasn't thrilled with the situation, but they had been in tighter spots before. She could see how concerned he looked, almost as if he expected her to be pissed off about the whole thing. Not knowing how to convey it in words, Natasha leaned in to gently brush her lips over his before moving back into his embrace.

"I'm okay, Clint. How's that bullet wound?"

"It'll heal."

That sounded more like the Clint she knew. Stepping back, Natasha lifted his shirt to see a dark pink patch of skin that was clearly infected. It didn't look anything like a gunshot wound, but knowing her partner he did something stupid to avoid going to the hospital.

"Do I even want to know how you patched this up?" She asked, running her fingers along the edge of the irritated skin. Her partner shook his head, but there was a gleam in his eye that immediately brought Tony to her mind. Of course.

When Natasha pushed a little harder on the edge of the wound, Clint inhaled sharply in response. She didn't know if it was from pain or pleasure, but she was interested in hearing it again. Smiling dangerously, she traced over his stomach where the outline of his abdominal muscles stood out as a testament to all his hours spent training. Noticing that the haunted look in Clint's eyes was being replaced by something hungrier, Natasha decided to take things one step further. As her hand drifted down to run along the edge of his belt Clint did it again and this time she knew it wasn't because of any injury.

"Nat..." There was a growl in his voice that typically meant trouble. Of course, this kind of trouble she was more than looking forward to.

"Hmm?" She replied innocently.

"Do you think we could maybe focus on getting off this train alive first?" Clint asked, knowing that he was a few minutes away from losing any decision making ability. It didn't help that Nat was still toying with his belt buckle.

"I say we multitask. The shower is already running, Clint- we should take advantage of the background noise. And don't you already have a plan for getting off the train?"

"Nat, I'm not saying I don't want to. I'm saying that when we do this I have every intention of hearing you scream my name. Since they don't make showers loud enough to cover that kind of noise, and I'd prefer that your Russian friends don't interrupt us again, how about we take things one at a time. Besides, I don't have a plan. We knew this was our best window for reaching you, so we took it. But I haven't come up with a strategy to get us out of here without ramifications. Take my com and patch through to Captain Rogers. He needs your intel to figure this out."

Natasha groaned; talking tactics with Captain Purity wasn't what she had in mind at all. Not the type to lose without a fight, Natasha gave Clint's belt a tug, closing the gap between them once again. She made sure this kiss was anything but sweet and innocent- her tongue teased and tempted, baiting Clint to give in and play back. After a few long moments, though, Clint pulled away with that grin back on his face as he slipped the com into her hand.

"Call Steve. I'm going to follow your advice and take advantage of this shower. Don't peek." Clint wasn't at all surprised that Natasha didn't even pretend to look away as he stripped down, set his weapons by the sink, and jumped into the stream of hot water. He made sure the shower curtain was pulled shut before switching the water to icy cold. That woman could push his buttons in all the right ways.

As he wiped the grime of the past few days from his body, he tried to hear Natasha on the com. It was a good sign that her words were too muffled to make out, since that meant the Russian agents didn't stand a chance of overhearing them. She would just have to fill him in later. Though once they ran out of plausible reasons to make noise it would be tough to communicate. For the first time since finding Natasha's breadcrumb, Clint began to worry. Now he was trapped in a single compartment of a high speed train with a few guns, knives, and his bow. They could fight if they had to, but it really wasn't plan A. At this point they would need a whole lot of good luck on their side to keep him hidden and her safe. Based on their recent track history, this seemed practically impossible.

Deciding that they couldn't keep it going any longer, Clint turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. There was a towel waiting for him, but Nat was no longer in the bathroom. He dried off and pulled on his cargo pants before silently opening the door to the bedroom. His wounds had a telltale itch to them that meant trouble, but other than scrubbing them raw with bath soap there wasn't a whole lot he could do. His mind was on possible locations of a first aid kit when he noticed Natasha sitting on her bed. Her face was all wrong; composed and set in that way he knew meant she had made up her mind about something and he wasn't going to like it.

She stood up and walked past him into the bathroom without making eye contact. With a growing sense of unease, he followed. Natasha stood in front of the sink, staring at her fingers where they pressed into the black marble. After a tense minute she plugged in the blow dryer and turned it on high, filling the room once again with white noise. Clint immediately stepped up behind her, pulling her back to his chest and wrapping his arms protectively around her waist. Although she accepted his embrace, she kept her eyes planted on her hands. Clint was about to break the silence to ask a question he didn't want an answer to when she spoke.

"Clint, I'm staying with Dr. Z."

**Guys, you rock. Just thought I should say it. I loooooove your reviews!**

**Also, this chapter did not happen willingly. In fact, I had to drag it kicking and screaming from my brain and still rewrote it 3 times. Not cool, story, not cool. I hope you liked it, short as it is, since our favorite spies are together again. Sorry for a lack of steamy shower sex, which would have been my personal preference, but Clint's logic got the best of me.  
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**I will try oh so very hard to write faster, but I make no promises. None. Other than that I promise to finish this story- I won't leave you guys hanging, even if I am the slowest writer in the history of writing things...  
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	16. Chapter 16

**A/N- For those of you hoping for a longer chapter, I'm sorry to disappoint. But this scene ended where it ended and there wasn't a whole lot I could do about it. Cause everybody dies... I mean..._  
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**Ch. 16_  
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_Clint, I'm staying with Dr. Z._

He repeated her words in his head, making sure that they meant what he thought they meant. Staying? As the truth sank in, Clint stepped back, breaking their physical contact and turning away from Natasha. He could feel her eyes follow him in the mirror, but she stayed where she was. He knew he should talk her out of it. Except that it was insane, so there was nothing to talk about. Plus, no one could talk Nat out of anything if she had made up her mind. But who agreed to this plan in the first place; Rogers? Super strength or not, Clint promised to kick his ass when this was all over.

Normally, Clint would punch a wall to blow off some steam, but that would get them killed. He couldn't yell, couldn't swear- this wasn't anything like their usual arguments. When walking a few circles around the bathroom only made him more frustrated, Clint gave in. There was no logic that he could see- she would just have to explain it to him.

Then he would talk her out of it.

He moved back to where Natasha was leaning against the sink, facing him with a searching look in her eyes. Taking another step, Clint pressed forward until she was effectively trapped with his arms resting on the marble on either side of her body. It reminded him of their kiss on the ship in a bittersweet way; a moment he regretted immensely but wouldn't take back for the world.

"Why?" He whispered, leaning his cheek against hers. He didn't want her to see the emotions reflected in his eyes. The fear, the doubt.

"I don't _want_ to stay. There's nothing I want more than to get as far away from Dr. Sociopath as possible. But this is our only shot at taking that bastard down. Think about it- he's going to lead me straight into the Black Widow headquarters. We won't ever get this chance again. Do you understand why I have to do this?"

Natasha ran her hand over the nape of his neck and down to his shoulder. She didn't mean to tell him in such a blunt, cold way, but their time was limited. Steve and Fury agreed that it was worth the risk, if she was volunteering. Maybe she should have talked to Clint about it first, but it wouldn't have changed anything. She was a spy, after all. This was her job. It was just easier to do her job when her body wasn't flush against his bare chest, with his breath sweeping lightly over her neck. It was easier if she didn't think about what exactly she was going to lose if this didn't go well.

In a moment of weakness, Natasha gave in to the possibility of changing her mind. She wanted to leave now, run away with Clint and create a life that included true happiness. She wanted to shoot Dr. Z between the eyes and go live in a house with a white picket fence and bake or something. But everyone wanted things they couldn't have and dwelling on it only made life harder. Natasha knew that shooting Dr. Z would give her temporary satisfaction- _a lot_ of temporary satisfaction- but the knowledge that the program would go on, taking and training young girls to fight and kill, would eat away at her. No one should go through that. Natasha was willing to die to make sure it never happened again.

Clint sighed, saying "Hell, Nat, of course I understand. I just want to find a better way to do it. One that doesn't involve letting you out of my sight. I didn't exactly bring an armory with me- it would be a little too much weight to jump the train. If things go sideways, our chances of fighting our way out of some Russian facility aren't great. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Clint pulled back to see if there was any chance Natasha was wavering, but her eyes were as steady as ever. This was her ultimate fight- something she had wanted to do for years but had never had an opportunity. He wasn't going to talk her out of it. But he could see that there was something else, something she didn't want him to know. More good news, probably.

"Just tell me, Nat. I need to know we're on the same page here."

"There are... risks... you should take into account. I'll need you to get to me somewhere between arriving at the facility and going to the lower levels. The security down there is too much for a single infiltrator and once I'm in- well you'll just have to rescue me before that." Natasha turned her head away, not used to losing her nerve. Clint didn't need to know the details. It would only distract him from the mission; make him emotional and cloud his sharp eye. She was pulled from her thoughts by Clint's hand cradling her cheek and turning her back to face him.

"Hey- we're still Hawkeye and Black Widow. You don't have to share all your secrets with me just because things are changing between us. Just tell me what I need to accomplish this mission, okay?" Natasha nodded, wondering if there was a single human being on the planet who knew her as well as Clint did. They were broken, each in their own way, but her sharp edges fit well against his. Her pain, his heart. She supposed that was how love worked, if you believed in that sort of thing.

"There is a delay between arrival and admittance. Even for Dr. Z- they verify everyone's identity before opening up. As long as you can transmit our location to SHIELD, we don't even need to get inside. I've built up a tolerance for most sedatives, so I shouldn't be totally out of it, but I'll get you descriptions of the most experienced guards just in case I'm not at my best. We just need to get out in one piece so that Rogers and his team can do their thing. I probably don't need to tell you this, but I get to kill the good doctor."

"Fine," Clint muttered, "But you'd better let me shoot him once. I'd hate for him to die without repaying the favor." That put a smile on both their faces; nothing like the promise of violence to restore a good mood in a room full of assassins.

Natasha turned off the blow dryer and took a second to gather her thoughts. She would have to be extremely careful not to show Dr. Z any change in her demeanor. She was supposed to be coming to terms with losing Clint for good; instead she was spending the night with him before overthrowing the Russian agency that created so much torment in her life. It would be a challenge, but the Black Widow loved to rise to the occasion. Just having a plan put her in a better mood. So when she pushed Clint back against the wall to whisper in his ear the smile was back on her lips and her hand was back on his belt buckle.

"I'm going to go set up an alibi. I'll be back with something to help that bullet wound and maybe a little food. My guards will follow me when I leave, so take the opportunity to prep the room in case you need to hide tonight during the security sweep. And Clint? Just because we can't have sex doesn't mean I plan on spending the whole night playing cards or knitting like a good girl. See you soon." As Natasha turned and left the bathroom, then the bed room, Clint stayed exactly where he was, trying to remember how to breathe.

**I have a thing for belt buckles. Apparently. Can someone give me an idea of what is acceptable under a T rating for my budding BlackHawke romance? I'd hate to break the rules too badly, since this is my one and only story. **

**Oh, and thank you for all your reviews! They really do make me laugh, and I go back and read them again when I'm getting stuck with the story. If I didn't love my job so much I would quit and write ALL THE TIME!  
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	17. Chapter 17

**Now don't get too excited, but this is a longer chapter! Woo! Also, since I haven't done this... ever... please remember that this is a story about adults with unsavory pasts. Just keep it in mind.**

Ch. 17

As Natasha left her sleeping quarters and walked down the hall to the main sitting room she rehearsed her cover. Like a good mask, there could be no cracks or glimpses of reality. She was grieving. Clint was gone, maybe even dead. Unlike missions, when she took on a new identity and life, this had to be her. What would Natasha Romanoff do when faced with crushing defeat?

She would drink.

Reaching the bar, Natasha threw back a few shots of vodka before giving up altogether and taking the bottle. She drank as she paced the room, stopping only to turn on a radio for some cover noise. Noticing the unease amongst the guards, Natasha had the urge to laugh. She had a reputation in her homeland and it wasn't for being a silly drunk. Like a caged animal, she didn't do well in confined spaces. Add alcohol and... well, she had a reputation for a reason. Natasha took mental notes of who took charge and which guards showed their fear. In order to see how a well oiled machine worked, you threw a wrench in it, then see how the pieces come back together. The agents exposed their hierarchy the moment they saw her as an imminent threat; it was nice to know she still had that effect on her fellow Russians. The more she drank the easier it was to pretend she was hitting the point of desperation; sure she knew that Clint was just down the hall, but being alone in a room with a dozen armed men always brought out the assassin in her.

"Natalia, you are not thinking something you shouldn't, are you? I would be very displeased if I had to sedate you early, my dear." Dr. Z spoke as he entered the room. The effect was immediate; the guards became relaxed and void of emotion once again. What little fun Natasha was having melted away. She knew what was going to happen next and hated herself for not realizing it sooner. The radio was a mistake.

"No doctor. I am doing as you suggested- putting away my life in America. Tomorrow I will be ready to rejoin you, but for now I am simply a Russian woman, mourning in my own way. Should I go back to my quarters?" Natasha knew she wouldn't be that lucky, but it seemed worth a shot. Even without the first aid kit, she at least had the alcohol and could get food later for Clint.

"That won't be necessary Natalia. Did you notice the music? One of your favorites, is it not? Perhaps dancing will take your mind off Agent Barton for a time. It has been many years since I have seen you dance and it would fill my heart with joy."

She wouldn't mind filling his heart with something a little more painful than joy. Lead, for instance. While his words bordered on grandfatherly, Natasha knew she would pay dearly if she refused. Dancing had been her dream, ever since she was a child she wanted to be in the Russian Ballet. During her years in the Red Room she took lessons, wildly clinging to the hope that if she was good enough they would let her leave. Stupid, but hope was a powerful drug when you lived in hell. All the girls in the Black Widow program were allowed to pursue their favorite hobby in addition to their training. It helped them survive. It also gave their keepers a powerful control- only obedient girls could have their lessons.

Sometime after Natasha started field work, when her missions became increasingly violent, she started hating dance. Dance was the drug they kept her strung out on for years so that she was blind to the truth- she would only ever do one thing in this world. Dr. Z loved to watch her dance, he had for as long as she could remember. It made her feel like a trained monkey; something so intimate and emotional as dancing and he could make her do it with a snap of his fingers.

"Natalia? Did I lose you in your thoughts?"

Natasha smiled and set the vodka bottle on the table. As a new song began she allowed the music to fill her mind. It was a faster tempo than the last, but that suited her just fine. Using the whole room she spun, leaping and dropping between tables and armchairs as she improvised. It had been a long time, but Natasha didn't need to think about what she was doing. It was as natural as breathing.

As the song neared the end, the Black Widow moved her body lower and lower, appearing to be shrinking while the music faded away. She ended curled inward, crouched with her hands and feet flat on the ground, her head tucked between her knees. Directly in front of the one guard who was more focused on her moving body than his position and weapon.

Rocking forward, Natasha rolled her weight onto her hands and pushed off the ground, launching her feet upward into his chin. Her blow landed right on target, sending the man off his feat and onto his ass. Immediately the other guards were on her, pinning her to the ground with crushing force. She didn't struggle, though she contemplated it when she took an elbow to the face and tasted the tang of blood from her lip. As they hauled her to her feet with weapons trained on her, Natasha was unfazed. Her only concern was Dr. Z's reaction. He wasn't joking about sedating her early, but he would also know that her little dance move was nothing more than blowing off steam.

It wasn't until he began to clap that she released the breath she had been holding. A grin spread over his face as he clapped, causing the guards to lose confidence in their response. Half lowered their weapons and a few grips loosened on her arms, though the more experienced agents knew that Dr. Z could laugh one moment and order someone's death the next.

"Ah, delightful! Natalia, you are such a light to my old soul! That will teach him to focus on his work, eh? I knew the Americans did not change you so much- you are a Black Widow at heart. Now, would you like to join me in the dining car for supper, or shall I have it sent to your room?" Natasha knew she was in the clear. It was a high price to pay having to dance for the devil one last time, but now she was one step closer to taking him down.

"To my room please. Perhaps the first aid kit as well. I would like the rest of the night to myself, but tomorrow could I join you for breakfast? I'll be ready for my new life then." At his nod she turned, scooped up the vodka bottle, and sashayed down the hall to her room.

As she slipped through the door her hands began to shake. Natasha only had one fear; powerlessness. To have no control over what happened next. She felt it on the helicarrier when Dr. Banner transformed into the Hulk and all she could do was run and hide. In a different way, she felt it now. Dr. Z had a power over her that could only be achieved through years of psychological manipulation. How many times had she been forced to dance for him, knowing she couldn't simply return to her room afterwards?

Natasha realized she was on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest as her breath came in short gasps. She only had a few minutes before they came with her food. A few minutes of weakness. That was all she ever allowed herself anyway.

Clint heard the door open and shut from his hideaway above the storage cabinet. He waited for the whistle to signal that the coast was clear but heard nothing that put him at ease. Then the sound of her breathing, rapid and erratic, reached his ears. To him it was as if she were screaming for help- he immediately climbed down and went to her side. Switching on the small radio by the bed and setting the vodka on the nightstand he took a moment to check her for physical trauma. Other than the bloody lip, Natasha's pain was entirely internal.

Since he couldn't go out there and personally end the life of each guard and the doctor, Clint forced himself to take a few deep breaths himself. When his rage subsided he scooped Natasha into his arms and carried her to the bed. He had seen her like this once before, though she didn't know it. He was tracking her for a mission, just waiting for the right time to kill her. But when the moment came, he didn't find a cold-hearted assassin. He found a young woman being crushed beneath the weight of the world, her heart broken but still beating, grieving over the mission she was forced to carry out. That, more than anything she could have said, convinced Clint that the Black Widow had a future with SHIELD.

Now, after years of healing and transformation, she was right back to that place. There was nothing he could say to make it better, so he held her tight against his body and whispered her name, waiting for her to come back to him. Soon she stopped shaking, relaxing her rigid muscles a little at a time. Her breathing slowed as she listened to the steady beat of Clint's heart beneath her cheek and felt the rise and fall of his chest. He felt her arms unwind from where they had been wrapped over her body in self defense, moving instead to embrace him.

In that moment, he couldn't deny that he loved her.

They stayed like that until her guards knocked on the door. The noise brought them back to reality; Natasha's face became void of emotion, the picture of the Black Widow. Clint slipped back to the other room, noticing that his bullet wound was once again radiating heat in a less-than-pleasant way. This time Natasha gave a whistle that the coast was clear before turning up the music and entering the bathroom.

"Food or first aid?" She asked, making it clear that they weren't talking about what just happened. That suited Clint just fine- they weren't exactly the type of people that talked about their feelings.

"First aid. Letting Tony play doctor wasn't my best idea to date." He grinned sheepishly at the glare she sent his way before taking off his shirt and hopping up to sit on the counter next to the sink.

"Did you let him shoot you with a laser? God, Clint, just set yourself on fire next time and save him the trouble!" Natasha continued to mutter about his stupidity as she sorted the limited supplies they had. Obviously they didn't give her anything pointy or poisonous, but there were at least painkillers and antiseptic ointments. That would take care of any external infections, but only a strong antibiotic would help an infection beneath the surface. Natasha went back to the bedroom to get the vodka, which Clint gratefully drank to distract him from imminent pain.

"Oddly enough, that's exactly what Tony did. Going to the hospital wasn't at the top of my to-do list. Just do what you can and, Nat? Be gentle."

"Shut up and drink your vodka."

"Trying to get me drunk? I'm still not going to sleep with you."

Rather than reply, Natasha pressed gauze soaked in hydrogen peroxide to the wound. Clint hissed and swore at the sudden sting, thinking it was almost as bad as the actual cauterizing. Soon, though, the cool liquid became soothing compared to the burn and itch he was used to. As he held the gauze in place Natasha repeated the procedure to the identical wound on his back. With his free hand he continued to sip at the bottle of vodka, acutely aware of _her_ free hand tracing the lines of old scars on his chest.

"Vienna?" Natasha asked, trailing a finger along an arc of marred skin that began at his collar bone and dipped a few inches.

"That crazy bitch with the switchblades, remember?"

Natasha smiled, "I liked her."

"You would."

She moved her hand along his skin and muscle, stopping just to the left of his belly button. He could tell she was trying to place this one, a double set of small scars almost like dotted lines. As she lightly touched each one Clint pressed the gauze to his wound a little harder to distract him from the more pleasant sensation she was creating.

At her raised eyebrow he said, "Hong Kong- the guy with the throwing stars. You weren't there, but I told you about it after. Someone blew my cover and the mark went all ninja on me at a bar. That was interesting."

She nodded, taking the gauze from his hand and throwing both in the sink. As she dried the wounds and covered them in ointment Clint let his eyes slip shut. He realized they both needed to get a few hours sleep tonight, especially with the amount of work they still had to do in the next few days. Natasha finished with the ointment and packed everything back in the kit, keeping an eye on Clint as she did. There was an understated calm that he exuded in every situation. He rarely lost control of his emotion, something she found nearly impossible to accomplish. She knew by the end of their first mission together that she could trust him in a way she had never before trusted another human being. There really wasn't anyone else for her in the world except Clint.

When his eyes opened and met hers, Natasha didn't glance away. Maybe fairy tales weren't complete crap after all, since she was sure that she was getting lost in his gaze. She felt rooted to the spot when he looked at her like that, both excited and terrified and completely unlike herself. As Clint slid off the counter and moved closer, Natasha thought this was true happiness. Surrounded by her worst enemy, hardly a chance of getting out unscathed, but incapable of wiping the smile off her face. Clint rested his hands on her hips, careful not to press his body to hers now that his wound was clean. He leaned in and began trailing kisses over her neck as he spoke.

"I need to check in with Rogers... The room is set for me to hide out... Do you want me to take first watch?"

"Hm? Uh, no. I'm not feeling all that sleepy. I'll keep watch. Just eat something first- you're such a baby when you wake up with a hangover." That got another smile out of Clint, who slid his hands just a little bit lower before turning to leave the room, Natasha hot on his heels.

**Wow- the things I can accomplish when my car is at the mechanic all day! Sure I haven't started cleaning or my laundry, but I wrote this entire chapter for you! Did you like it? **

**Also, thanks for all the input about the rating system. When our two little killer lovebirds finally get their moment, in like 20 more chapters, I'll follow your suggestions on the T rating. :D  
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**Remember, your thoughtful reviews make me happier than ice cream. Which, you know, is about the greatest thing on the planet. So thanks!  
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